


Cinders

by ash_carpenter, Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Human, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:45:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 69,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/pseuds/ash_carpenter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: A re-telling of "Cinderella", sort of.Human AU crossover with Supernatural.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration between myself and **ash_carpenter**. It was initially intended as a re-telling of "Cinderella", but, er, gets complicated. Lindsey is Cinderella, Spike is Prince Charming, Angel, Giles, Wesley and Caleb are all massive, massive dicks. Sam and Dean Winchester are palace guards with their own sub-plot.
> 
> Warning: pretty much wall-to-wall rape and incest and incestuous rape. Really. If that's not your thing, do not read. Oh, also some heavily shmoopy Splindsey mixed in.
> 
> Pairings (Consensual): Sam/Dean, Spike/Lindsey  
> Pairings (Non-consensual): Uh... every other character in the story. Why be spoilery?

Once upon a time, in a mystical land far, far away, there lived a beautiful young man named Lindsey. His early childhood was a happy one in the peaceful kingdom he inhabited with his parents, who were modestly wealthy merchants, and he spent his days studying and playing, singing and carefree.

Then everything got royally fucked.

What, you were expecting Disney?

His mother was murdered when he was nine and his father, John, began a vengeful quest that often took him far from home for long stretches of time. Aware that his son needed at least one functioning parent, John made an ill-advised marriage with an admittedly stunning, but thoroughly evil bitch named Darla. A smart and wily (and sexually talented) woman, she tricked John into believing that she would love Lindsey like she did her own sons, Angel and Caleb.

She lied.

While John roamed far and wide with an array of weaponry and his good friend José Cuervo, Darla and her boys lived in the lap of relative luxury while she treated Lindsey like a slave.

Every day, Lindsey was to wash the floors and do the laundry, chop wood and sweep ashes and do the dishes. She made him sleep on a bed of straw on the cold parlor floor when his father was away, and she whipped him with a riding crop if he didn’t complete all of his chores. Darla threatened him with such terrible punishments if he was ever ungrateful enough to complain to his father that he was too scared to even make the attempt. After all, John never stayed around very long and it would only be a matter of time before his stepmother managed to catch him alone.

By the time he was in his late teens, Lindsey was so used to his shut-in, laborious life that he barely remembered when things had been any different.

He could only faintly recall his loving mother and the way his father had taken him into the woods and taught him how to hunt, and how he’d been given a gorgeous guitar for one of his birthdays. His mind would wander sometimes from his life of drudgery, but it was soon sharply recalled by a kick from his stepmother... or the unwanted attentions of his stepbrothers.

Deferential and upstanding on the rare occasions when John was around, the two men – several years Lindsey’s senior – raised hell whenever he was gone. They drank and fought, whored around and caused as much trouble in taverns and houses of ill repute as they could, all the while maintaining their public image as fine young men. Caleb even had plans to enter the priesthood.

And when they were home, bored and often hungover, Lindsey was their preferred plaything. They taunted him, ordered him to cater to their whims and hurt him if he didn’t obey fast or well enough. And then there were the other things they forced him to do – things that no man should ever ask or expect from his own brother. Lindsey detested those frightening, intimidating and shameful encounters, but he had no-one to tell and nowhere to escape to.

Lindsey sometimes thought that if his ‘family’ hated him so much, then surely they wouldn’t care if he ran away. But he knew that it was a lie. They would hunt him down and drag him back any way they had to, and the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.

And so he lived his bare and lonely little life of servitude, with almost nothing to hope for or look forward to.

One of the only small pleasures that Lindsey had was reading the weekly kingdom newspaper. He hid it when he was supposed to take it out with the trash and then stayed up late to read it by the last glowing embers of the fire he wasn’t allowed to stoke after everyone else had gone to bed.

He loved to read about the events that should have been mundane to him, but seemed as fantastical as any story book. He devoured the pages devoted to marriages and births and even deaths, imagining the lives that others were leading.

Most of all, he eagerly scrutinized the paper for any mention of the royal family, and especially the handsome prince who would one day be their king.

It was difficult for him to imagine the life that Prince Spike and his younger brother Wesley must lead, surrounded by finery and freedom, making important decisions every day and being so talented and accomplished. In his darkest moments, when he retreated to fantasies and dreams for his only comfort, Lindsey pictured meeting them one day, or even just seeing inside the castle.

It was a pipe dream, he knew – ridiculous and impossible. Those sculpted faces and piercing eyes would never look upon him – and he would probably never be allowed beyond the bounds of John’s property. He would remain a servant, neglected by his father, scorned by his stepmother, and abused by his stepbrothers.

The knowledge made him all the more hungry for any scraps of information he could hoard, and he excitedly awaited the moment each week when he’d be able to learn news of the outside world by the dim and receding glow from the fireplace, hunkered down on his meager resting place on the flagstones.

And then one week the paper was full of only one subject, a subject that was to change Lindsey’s life forever. Although at the time he believed that the news was as distant from him as everything else involving the dashing young prince, Lindsey’s eyes lit up and his heart lurched with vicarious excitement as he read about the upcoming once-in-a-lifetime event at the palace.

The king was throwing an enormous and sumptuous ball, to which all the young men of the kingdom were to be invited.

And amid the sparkles and luxury, from among the hundreds of hopefuls who thronged to the palace dressed in their very best, Prince Spike was to choose a consort.

That night, Lindsey dreamed of dancing beneath crystal chandeliers with someone who would see beyond his ragged clothes and uncut hair, and understand how much he had to give.

He awoke at dawn with a sigh, rousing himself from the uncomfortable stone and stumbling outside to fetch water and tend to the horses.


	2. Chapter One

Mornings were Prince Spike’s time to himself. Well, not entirely to himself, since his bodyguard had to be there, but at least he didn’t have to be ‘on stage’ with Sam. Increasingly, Spike felt judged and found wanting even when the only person in the room was his younger brother, Wesley.  
  
In their father’s eyes, Wesley could do no wrong. But Spike was the elder, and the heir. And the one who had to stand next to their father at parades and ceremonies and get yelled at if he so much as slouched.  
  
Spike hated standing still. He just wasn’t good at it.  
  
So, enjoying his eggs and toast and sprawling un-regally in his chair, Spike was alarmed when his brother marched into his private chamber, followed as always by his own bodyguard, Dean, who gave a wave to Sam.  
  
Wesley dropped a newspaper next to Spike’s plate. “You ought to read that.”  
  
Spike pushed the paper away from his plate. “Wes, I’m eating.”  
  
Wes gave him a cold smile. “You can’t complain you weren’t informed if you never read the papers.”  
  
Wesley, of course, read every newspaper in the kingdom, and tracked the gossip columns like they were weather reports. Just another way he was oh-so-much better.  
  
Spike hesitated.  
  
“It’s about you,” Wesley said, not hiding his glee.  
  
Spike smacked the table with his fork. “Damnit, Wes. I’ll read it. Now bugger off and let me eat.”  
  
“Fine. But do remember who was kind enough to warn you.” Wesley turned on his heel and snapped his fingers for his guard, who had entered into a whispered conversation with Spike’s guard and looked somewhat put-upon to leave, but pasted a smile on and nodded goodbye to Sam.  
  
Spike bit his lip. Chances were good something was up, and that it was somehow going to be his fault.  
  
Sam was smirking at him.  
  
Spike scowled. “What?”  
  
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Do you really need me to point out the obvious?”  
  
Spike glanced down at the newspaper. It was folded so the headline “Royal Heir to Choose Consort” was fully displayed.  
  
“Oh hell,” Spike said, stomach falling and a hot flash of embarrassment rising to his face. There went breakfast. He set the paper in his lap and tried to will himself to look composed. “Well, it’s not like I didn’t always know I wouldn’t get to just date girls like a normal bloke. Least he’s letting me choose.”  
  
Sam was having a hard time controlling his laughter. “You didn’t read all of it. Get a paragraph in, that’s all you’ll need.”  
  
Spike scowled. “His Royal Majesty… blah blah… a royal ball… all the eligible young…” Spike’s jaw dropped.  
  
“Aaand there you are.” Sam rocked back on his heels. “You know your brother orchestrated this.”  
  
Spike glared at his guard, wanting to defend his brother, and also to remind Sam that he was an employee and a commoner to boot, but somehow the words wouldn’t get out of his mouth. The entire kingdom expected him to shack up with some bloke after just meeting him. It trumped all other thoughts. “I’m not gay!” he blurted.  
  
Sam muttered something under his breath that might have been, “Unfortunately”, before clearing his throat and saying, “It’s obvious your brother did this to keep you from creating any heirs, and he’s timed it so you’re locked in before your birthday gives you majority. He’s probably worried you’d get enough extra freedom to go out and make bastards.”  
  
“Watch your mouth!” Spike jumped up. “Just… shut up.” He gripped his head, staring down at the newspaper, now tumbled to the floor.  
  
Sam held out his hands. “I’m just telling you what you need to know. Prince Wesley is a threat, but that’s okay, I’m just the guy whose job it is to keep you from being assassinated.”  
  
“No-one’s getting assassinated.” Spike started to pace. “Berk,” he added. Spike secretly suspected that the captain of the guard had assigned him Sam maliciously because of some slight Spike didn’t remember making.  
  
Snatching up the paper, Spike ran after his brother.  
  
Wesley had been walking slowly, no doubt expecting this, as he had only made it to the end of the grand hallway that connected the princes’ chambers with the rest of the castle. As Spike approached, Wesley turned to face him. Dean and Sam discreetly found a clear space near the wall to stand out of the way.  
  
“Drama,” Dean mouthed to Sam, who shrugged his agreement.  
  
Spike waved the newspaper at Wesley’s face. “Is this a joke? This is real?”  
  
“Oh, quite real, I’m afraid,” Wesley said, with an astonishingly sober expression. “And there’s nothing you can do. The plans are already well underway.”  
  
“Nothing? We can call the newspapers and tell them you left the bloody ‘wo’ off ‘women’!”  
  
“It certainly wasn’t me who put this in the papers in the first place. I was as surprised to read it as you.”  
  
Sam made a somewhat loud snort that got him a nasty look from Wesley and a smack in the arm from Dean.  
  
“Look,” Spike said, quickly getting Wesley’s attention back. “You know how to do this stuff. Help me get a correction printed.”  
  
Wesley seemed to grow two inches taller just by how far down his nose he looked at Spike. “I am so sorry, but no matter how much ‘stuff’ I know how to do, this is a matter decided by the king. You’ll have to take it up with him.”  
  
Spike swallowed against a suddenly tight throat. The last person he wanted to see was his father. He looked around for some way out, but all he got was a sympathetic shrug from Dean.  
  
*****  
  
Lindsey started every morning by looking into the stable to see if his father’s horse was there. He knew it was fruitless, but still, he always hoped. Things were better when his father was in the house. Not great, but better.  
  
Sierra’s stall was, as usual, empty. And as usual, Lindsey felt a bitter disappointment that he always told himself he wasn’t going to as he moved on to tend to the temperamental black stallion, Plymouth, that his stepbrother Angel preferred.  
  
Plymouth always was a prickly beast, and he stomped and swung his head as Lindsey tried to get him out so he could clean the stall. Lindsey sweated, knowing he was running late, again, and might not get a chance to brush his late mother’s old nag. Pickup was his favorite horse, but was deemed low-priority due to her age. Angel and Caleb would have his head if they found him tending to her before their own horses.  
  
They’d have his head anyway if he didn’t finish up in time to serve breakfast.  
  
“Will you calm down, you stupid beast!” He hissed at Plymouth, gripping the reigns and trying to muscle him down.  
  
“Watch how you talk to my horse.”  
  
Lindsey’s heart froze and he turned to see Angel leaning against the opposite stall, a cruel and amused smile on his face.  
  
As if to prove him incompetent, Plymouth dropped complacently to all four hooves and stepped out of the stall of his own accord.  
  
“A-Angel.” Lindsey quickly turned back to mucking out the stall, hoping to hide his shaking hands in motion. “What are you doing up so early?”  
  
“I had to make sure Plymouth was ready for riding.” Angel stroked the horse affectionately. “I’m heading into town after breakfast. I need new suits of clothes if I’m going to be the new Prince Consort.”  
  
Despite his fervent promise to himself that he would ignore Angel, Lindsey turned to look at him. “You’re going to the ball, then?”  
  
Angel smirked. “Am I going to the ball? I’ve already got it sewn up.” Angel walked along Plymouth’s side, coming closer to Lindsey, boxing him into the stall. “I’ll find out who’s real competition and convince them not to show. As for the prince himself, well,” Angel shrugged with consummate arrogance. “I know just what pretty little boys like this Prince Spike like, don’t I, Linds?”  
  
Lindsey stepped backward into the horse’s mess. He held the rake in front of him. “Angel, just stop.”  
  
“Stop what? Making you scream and beg?” Angel pouted in mock sympathy. “What kind of brother would I be?” Angel leaned close, breathing on Lindsey’s neck. “I have to give you what you need, don’t I?”  
  
“You’ll be late,” Lindsey said, staring straight past Angel’s ear.  
  
Angel straightened. “Wouldn’t want that. Mother’s very eager that one of us nab this most eligible bachelor. If you get in the way, I’ll have to punish you for her.” Angel stepped back, giving his horse another fond pat. “So hurry up. And take a bath; you smell like horse shit.”  
  
Lindsey watched his brother leave, frozen and quivering with the near-miss of their encounter. As soon as Angel stepped out of the barn, Plymouth started acting up, cantering in place. Lindsey suspected the horse was laughing at him.  
  
*****  
  
“Dad?”  
  
King Giles looked up from the letter he was reading. He frowned at the interruption, but waved his son forward. “Yes, what is it? I’m rather busy.”  
  
“Preparations for the ball?” asked Spike, his tone probably a little more acid than was wise in front of his father.  
  
“Yes, actually. It’s not easy to get such a grand affair organized – and you should be more grateful.”  
  
Spike barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t think a ball’s a good idea,” he began reasonably, although in fact he thought it was a bloody awful idea, “but I don’t really understand why...”  
  
“Why, what? Spit it out.”  
  
“Why you’ve invited all the eligible  _men_ , instead of women.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Spike blinked at his father, who was staring at him with an expression that was sliding from impassive to impatient.  
  
“Well, uh...” Spike faltered. Wasn’t it obvious? “I’m not, you know... I don’t like boys. I like girls.”  
  
“Oh, please,” scoffed his father, waving his hand dismissively.  
  
Spike gaped, completely taken-aback. Unable to repress an annoyed glower, he stepped further forward, right up to the king’s writing desk. “I’m serious. Why the bloody hell would you think I liked dick?”  
  
Giles raised an eyebrow, finally putting down his letter and giving his son his full attention. “To be honest, I’ve never given it much thought at all. If I  _had_ , then I’d probably have assumed from the way you dress and act that you’d rather roll over and take it, but that’s not the point.”  
  
Too stunned and embarrassed to properly respond to the underlying implications, Spike simply asked, “So what is the point?”  
  
“Politically speaking, it would be better for you to be matched with a man; there have already been accusations that the current line is less tolerant than it should be and the last thing we want is revolt or conspiracy. Moreover, there are several families who would provide excellent affiliations for us – and their power and fortune will always reside with the male heirs.”  
  
Spike, who personally thought those reasons seemed rather flimsy – especially compared with Sam’s conspiracy theory about Wesley’s pretentions to the throne – just couldn’t believe this could be happening to him. He’d never exactly been his father’s favorite, but it was still difficult to believe that he actively wanted him out of line for the throne – or, almost worse, that he just didn’t give a shit if Spike was happy or not.   
  
“Dad. Are you listening? I don’t like men. I can’t be... wed to one, or whatever.”  
  
“Yes, you can. And you will. Now, have you quite finished wasting my time?”  
  
“Dad! This is just –”  
  
“This conversation is over, son. I suggest you leave before I run out of patience.”  
  
King Giles had clearly already run out of patience. Spike knew from bitter experience that he could argue until he was blue in the face and it would be unlikely to get him anything beyond a swift, hard reprisal. It would be worth taking a beating if it would make any difference, but Spike knew his time was better spent trying to think of another solution to the problem.  
  
Still, he was hot-headed and it took every scrap of control he had to nod curtly and mutter, “Yes, Sir.” He had to turn on his heels and beat a hasty retreat to prevent himself from launching into a foul-mouthed tirade about how very unsatisfactory the situation was.  
  
He needed a plan – and fast. Sadly, planning had never been his forte, and it wasn’t as if he had many people he could ask for help. His position didn’t allow him many friends – and it clearly wouldn’t be wise to place any trust in Wesley...   
  
Sam. There was no-one else. He would help – he had to.  
  
*****  
  
“Boo.”  
  
Dean jumped at the sudden presence at his back and the teasing word breathed warmly over his neck.  
  
Sam was the only person who’d ever been able to sneak up on him. He turned and looked over his shoulder, subtly pushing his body back against his brother’s.  
  
“Asshole.”  
  
“Guess your hearing’s not what it used to be, old man,” grinned Sam, sliding one hand over Dean’s hip. “Where’s Wesley?”  
  
“Getting bathed.”  
  
“Bathed, huh?”  
  
“Well, there’s water and oil and loufahs involved, along with three serving girls who look eager to go that extra mile to keep His Highness happy, but yeah. He’ll probably be a while. What about Spike?”  
  
“Talking to Daddy. He probably won’t be a while – ‘cause something tells me the king doesn’t care all that much what Spike thinks about the ball.”  
  
Dean smiled, although the expression wasn’t devoid of sympathy. He leaned a little more heavily against Sam, biting his lip when his brother’s fingers trailed down over the crease of his groin. “Not too happy about having cock foisted on him, huh?”  
  
Sam shook his head, pressing his lips to Dean’s neck. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”  
  
Dean chuckled softly. “Yeah, well you’d better not try to show him or I’ll kick your ass.”  
  
Sam laughed, nipping at Dean’s shoulder. He could feel himself starting to harden against Dean’s ass and he skimmed his hand over the front of his brother’s pants, smiling as his cock filled out a little and he groaned.  
  
“Stop it, man. Don’t start what you can’t finish.”  
  
“Maybe I just want you nice and needy for later...”  
  
Dean was about to respond when they heard the tell-tale thumping of a pissed-off Spike’s oversized boots echoing through the stone corridor. With a sigh, he moved away from Sam, stifling a smirk when he cursed and readjusted himself.   
  
“What were you saying about needy?” he murmured just as the prince rounded the corner and came stomping over.   
  
“There you are,” called Spike to Sam. “I need to talk to you.”  
  
“Yes, Sire?” asked Sam mildly. Spike’s face was thunderous and he had that cross little line he got between his eyes when things weren’t going his way. It was sort of cute.   
  
“Where’s Wes?” he snapped at Dean, as if it was his fault that the younger prince was an asshole.   
  
“Bathing.”  
  
Spike snorted. “Right. Is that what we’re calling it? Fine then. Go back to your room for a while and take a break; he’ll be ages.”  
  
Sam and Dean shared a look. Spike generally said whatever was on his mind in front of Dean, and it could only be because he was scared of it getting back to Wesley that he was suddenly being cagey.   
  
“But...”  
  
“Wasn’t asking, mate,” pointed out Spike impatiently, and Dean tried to stifle a glare before he rolled his eyes and obeyed.   
  
Once Dean was out of earshot, Sam raised an eyebrow at Spike.   
  
Spike leaned against the pillar, looking off into the distance and avoiding Sam’s eyes. He swallowed hard; he didn’t want to believe that his brother would conspire against him in any way, but he wasn’t prepared to gamble his life or happiness on it.  
  
“So... tell me about this theory of yours.”  
  
*****  
  
Lindsey groaned as he stretched out on his pitiful bed of straw, trying to let the ache of the day seep out of him. He was exhausted and just needed to sleep, however difficult that might be between the hard floor and the draft from under the door.  
  
His breath caught in his throat as he heard his stepbrothers stumble into the house and he unconsciously huddled further into the corner. If he was very still and quiet, maybe they’d forget that he was even there.   
  
“Lindseeeeeeey...” called Angel, a teasing lilt to his voice.  
  
Lindsey briefly pressed his face to the floor, his heart beating faster in his chest. He should have known that luck wouldn’t be on his side – it never was.  
  
He quickly pushed himself to his feet. It was never good to start off with the disadvantage of being on the floor, even if he invariably ended up there. He squared his shoulders as best he could and faced Angel and Caleb as they entered the room, turning on a lamp.  
  
“There he is. Hey there, little brother,” smiled Angel. Caleb came up behind Angel, resting his chin on his shoulder and running his eyes lasciviously over Lindsey.  
  
Lindsey just watched them warily, wondering what they were going to do to him. Sometimes they just made fun of him and said hurtful things; most times they shoved him around a little. Once in a while it was worse. They hadn’t put him on his knees in a few weeks and ordered him to do that dirty thing he hated, so it was probably past due. He let his gaze drop to the floor, hiding the way that his eyes swam with tears; it was so much worse if he showed them how weak he really felt.  
  
“You know,” mused Caleb, “We’re gonna be gone soon enough. You’re gonna be wed to a prince, I’m gonna be a preacher man... Our boy’s gonna be all alone.”  
  
“That’s true,” agreed Angel. “So sad. Don’t you think so, Lindsey?”  
  
His voice was amused and mocking, because he knew exactly how much Lindsey yearned for the day they were gone and his torment was lessened. The younger boy mumbled something that wasn’t an assent, but wasn’t a blatant enough scoff to incur their wrath.  
  
“I feel bad about leaving him,” said Caleb conspiratorially, mouth almost close enough to brush Angel’s ear. “He’s so young, and knows so little about the big, wide world.”  
  
“It’s true,” nodded Angel, falsely sympathetic. “He’s so innocent. And we’re his big brothers; it’s our job to teach him, to make sure that people can’t take advantage of him.”  
  
Lindsey swallowed hard as Angel and Caleb began to advance on him side-by-side, blocking any thought of escape he might have entertained. He forced himself to keep his ground, raising his chin almost defiantly at them.  
  
“But you’ve taught me so much already,” he said softly, bitterly.  
  
Angel laughed, hand darting out and catching Lindsey’s chin in a hard, unforgiving grip. “Oh, baby... We’ve barely scratched the surface. You have no idea what’s out there.”  
  
Caleb nodded his agreement, flanking Lindsey and standing close to him, hips almost brushing against his body. Lindsey held himself stock still, forcing himself not to flinch away.  
  
“You go out there like a sheep amidst the wolves? They’re gonna smell the naivety all over you.”  
  
Lindsey gritted his teeth. “Out where? I ain’t allowed to go anywhere. So, I think I’ll be just fine, thanks for your concern.”  
  
Caleb’s hand shot out and tangled in Lindsey’s hair, pulling his head sharply backwards and making him cry out.  
  
Angel also stepped forward, body flush against Lindsey as he got right up in his face. “That? That lip? Is exactly why someone’s going to take a lot of pleasure one day in beating you down and fucking that sweet little body until you scream.”  
  
Lindsey was practically hyperventilating, squirming ineffectively to get his body away from his stepbrothers’. He stifled a whimper when Caleb yanked his hair harder and Angel slapped a hand to his face, sliding it down to clutch at the back of his neck.  
  
“So that’s why we can’t let you go out there a virgin,” he said gently, as if he truly did care and was looking out for Lindsey’s best interests. “It wouldn’t be safe for you.”  
  
Lindsey tried once again to twist away, yelping when Caleb suddenly shoved him to the floor, where he cracked his knee painfully against the flagstone.   
  
“But don’t worry, kiddo,” grinned Angel. “We’re gonna hook you up.”  
  
“But not tonight,” added Caleb, and Lindsey could hear the smile in his voice.  
  
As they walked away, jostling each other, Lindsey hid his face against his shoulder and let out a shuddering breath. Now he had something else to be afraid of.  
  
They wouldn’t wait long.  
  



	3. Chapter Two

Spike paced his chambers, fists clenching and unclenching, looking around like he was spoiling for a fight. “I can’t go against Dad. He’ll rip holes in me that don’t have names yet.”

Sam tried to look congenial even though this needless conversation was effectively cock-blocking him. “Look,” he said tightly. “It’s obvious what you have to do.”

Spike spun to face him, an almost comical look of relief on his face. “You have a plan?”

Sam shrugged. “Get someone pregnant.”

“That’s not a plan!” Spike threw his hands up. “Shall I ring up the chamber maid? ‘Hello, love, fancy birthing a bastard?’ My father would kill me, the poor bint would lose her job or fuck knows what else and I would still be stuck taking it up the arse!”

Sam exhaled slowly, counseling himself to patience before the boss. “It’s all about _who_ you get pregnant. You need a willing, female accomplice.” Sam ignored Spike’s “No shit” interruption. “Who is wealthy enough and important enough that King Giles would rather cancel the ball than upset her family.”

Sam could tell by the slow-down in pacing and angry gestures that he was starting to get through to Spike. He pressed on. “So start thinking of eligible princesses. She has to live close, so I can sneak you to her or her to you. Someone rich, powerful, and someone your father respects, or at least whose family your father respects.”

“And who I like,” Spike added, sullenly.

“It’s really only necessary that she likes you. I mean, you already have your motivation. Any woman is better than any guy, right?”

Spike didn’t look convinced, but he said, “Yeah, all right. But how’m I going to find this girl? I barely get to leave the castle, and never without an armed guard.”

“An armed guard who is me,” Sam smiled smugly.

Spike stopped pacing and looked at himself in one of the room’s many floor-length mirrors. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“Come on – you’re hot, not to mention rich and royal.”

Spike’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline and then descended into the beginning of a scowl and Sam realized that he was about to be chewed out for over-familiarity or, which would be worse, Spike had just realized that Sam ogled him when he was in the bath. Sam quickly coughed and said, “Sire. Look, just… leave this to me. You think of anyone you might like, but I can put out feelers through the serving staff. In fact, uh, I should probably go fill Dean in on the plan. He can…” Sam paused a second, but it came to him. “He can keep an eye on Wes and make sure he doesn’t realize what we’re doing.”

This had the desired effect of confusing Spike. “You think Wes might do something?”

“Yeah. I better do that right away.” Sam affected a concerned face and backed toward the door with a hand up.

“Now wait a minute! I’m not sure I even like this plan.”

Sam felt his escape rapidly withering. “Okay,” he said, folding his arms, “Tell me your plan.”

After a few seconds of dumbfounded silence, Sam nodded. “Let me get this one started, and you tell me if you come up with anything, Your Highness.”

He was out in the corridor and had the door closed before Spike could do more than frown confusedly. Sam smiled. That took less time than he’d feared. He and Dean still had an hour or two before Wes finished his ‘bath’.

*****

Darla came into the kitchen, humming and carrying a bouquet of fresh flowers from the garden. Lindsey tried to shrink down against the wash-tub. Darla in a good mood was never a good thing.

She stopped in the middle of the room and cleared her throat. Belatedly, Lindsey jumped to his feet and grabbed a pitcher for the flowers. Darla picked less-attractive leaves from the stems as he hurried to fill the pitcher.

“Before you get all filthy, Lindsey, I need you to go help your brother. Angel’s new suit of clothes didn’t come fitting quite properly and you’ll have to help adjust them.”

Lindsey set the pitcher on the table and looked back at the enormous pile of washing he had to somehow get done before it was too dark to see. Then, of course, the fires all had to be banked for the night – that was probably what Darla meant by him ‘getting all filthy’.

Darla gave him a pointed look. “This isn’t idle conversation, Lindsey. We all stand to gain considerably if Angel becomes Prince Consort. Even you.”

“Uh… yes, Ma’am, I’ll go up there soon as the washing’s done.”

“You’ll go up there NOW.”

Shit. “Yes, Ma’am,” Lindsey said and quickly slipped his apron off.

“Honestly,” Darla muttered to herself as she arranged the flowers. “You have to tell him everything.”

Lindsey took the steps two at a time though he wanted nothing less than to visit Angel’s chamber.

When he got there, Angel was in his shirt sleeves, fussing with a cuff in front of the mirror. Caleb lay on the bed, a book open beside him, but his attention on his brother. “Vanity is a sin,” Caleb said as Lindsey entered, then gave Lindsey a leer, “And speaking of sin…”

Lindsey froze. The door was still open behind him, he could still escape. “D-Darla said I should come help Angel with his suit.”

“Did she? Think he can help you out, brother?”

Angel was too annoyed with his cuffs at the moment to join in. “Anyone could do better than those butchers. Look how it gaps!” He bent his arm sharply, causing the cuff to ride up and open.

Caleb rolled his eyes. “You aren’t going to be taking the prince in a headlock. Not on the first date, anyway.”

“Let me see,” Lindsey said, hurriedly moving so Angel was between him and Caleb. Not that the one was safer to be near than the other, but Angel seemed truly preoccupied with his suit.

Lindsey’d had to learn quite a bit about tailoring with his vain older brother and stepmother to tend to. He unbuttoned the sleeve and pinned it together closer to the seam. “How’s that?”

Angel flexed his arm. “Better. Now take in the waist.”

Lindsey kneeled and picked up the pins. A heavy hand landed on his head. He knew Angel’s distraction wouldn’t last. Lindsey swallowed heavily and tried to control his shaking hands as he reached for the hem of Angel’s shirt.

“You do look pretty on your knees. Doesn’t he, Caleb?”

“Mm. It is the proper position for a sinful young man.”

Lindsey heard Caleb’s boots hit the floor and he dropped the pin he’d been placing. His hands were shaking too much to pick it up. “Don’t,” he said.

Angel grabbed his hair and tugged his head back. “Don’t WHAT?”

“Don’t interrupt. Th-this is delicate work.”

Angel laughed. “What a dedicated little tailor. You’re shaking with fear that my hem won’t be straight.”

Caleb came up behind Lindsey, his leg bumping casually against his back. “The little dirt-digger’s getting mouthy, Angel. Perhaps we should teach him a better use for that filthy tongue.”

Lindsey clenched his fists and nearly cried. Why wouldn’t they leave him alone? Just once?

Angel picked up Lindsey’s wrist and pushed his hand against the hardness of his erection. “There’s a bit of a bulge here, Lindsey. It’s making the trousers lay all wrong. Think you can take care of that while you’re down there?”

Lindsey tried to struggle free of Angel’s grip on his hair and wrist, but Caleb was right there, crouching down to hold him. “Don’t act all offended, little brother, we know you love sucking a man’s cock. You wouldn’t be so good at it if you didn’t.”

Lindsey felt helpless, airless. He wished he could sink deep into himself, away from his skin and the hands that touched it.

“Get to work,” Angel said, and turned his attention back to the mirror and let go of Lindsey’s wrist so he could adjust the lay of his collar. He frowned thoughtfully.

*****

Sam had spent two hours ‘filling Dean in’. While they were panting in the afterglow on sweat-soaked sheets, he actually managed to broach the subject of his plan for the prince to knock someone up.

Dean curled his body toward Sam’s, tucking against his side, and Sam held him close. It would only be around five minutes before the orgasmic bliss began to fade and Dean would shove away and accuse him of being a big cuddly girl, or something else equally annoying.

Dean kissed his chest, idly drawing patterns on his sweat- and semen-coated belly. “So we have to find Spike a princess to bang? Can’t he find his own damned princess?”

“Where? The only time he really gets to meet other royalty is when the king has a big event, and that’s not gonna happen before the ball.”

“Okay, fine. So who do we got?”

“Well, I checked it out with Bobby before I spoke to Spike and he said there are only three young, unmarried princesses who live close enough, and who aren’t complete trolls or under a curse.”

Bobby was officially an advisor to the king, but it was widely suspected that he was a sorcerer – and, given the kinds of books and random herbs and artifacts they’d seen in his chambers, Sam and Dean were inclined to agree. He was a gruff old cuss who knew almost everything (and made up whatever he didn’t know), and had been charged with looking after the boys when they’d been orphaned as young children. They loved him like a father.

“Who are they?”

“Princess Willow, Princess Anya and Princess Drusilla.”

“Three young, pretty princess who aren’t married... So, what’s wrong with them?”

“Lesbian, suspected demon and nutjob.”

“Ah. Well, guess it’s pretty clear-cut then.”

“Yeah. Being crazy might actually make her more inclined to go along with the plan.”

Dean nodded, pushing into Sam’s hand when he petted his hair and then groaning slightly when Sam pushed his thigh tighter to his groin. “Dude, don’t. Wesley’s gonna be finished soon and you’re making me want another round.”

Sam sighed. “Fine. Oh – you have to make sure that Wes doesn’t get wind of the plan. That’s what I came here to tell you.”

“Uh-huh. And it took you two orgasms to get around to it?”

“Damn right.” Sam grinned, kissing Dean’s temple and then rolling his eyes when Dean pushed him away and made a show of wiping his face with the bed-sheet, muttering something about slobber. “I’m either gonna have to sneak Spike out to Drusilla or her into him, and Wes can’t know about it. You might have to distract him.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, expression sliding into a leer.

“Not like that,” added Sam swiftly and sternly.

Dean pouted. “You ruin all my fun. But man, seriously, how do you get us into these ridiculous situations, huh? If I start acting weird, Wes will be all over my case and you know it.”

“Stop whining; you’ll figure something out.”

Dean hoped so. A pissed off Wesley was never fun to contend with.

*****

“Where the bloody hell have you been?” snapped Spike.

“With Dean. We were... discussing the plan – and we’ve found a princess, by the way.”

“Thank fuck for that. Because I think Dad’s trying to pimp me out.”

“What?”

“Just got summoned to his study; apparently he has a ‘suitor’ for me to meet,” growled Spike, clearly walking a fine line between anger and apprehension.

Sam followed Spike as they made their way through the great stone halls, wondering what was going on. It was fairly obvious that the ball was a big sham, so maybe Giles had already picked the partner he wanted for Spike – the one that was going to afford the greatest political affiliations.

When they stepped into the study, Giles rose and beckoned to Spike. “There you are. Come here, son, I want you to meet Duke Riley. Winchester, wait outside.”

Spike turned back and his slightly panicked eyes met Sam’s. Unable to do anything but obey the king, Sam gave an apologetic shrug before bowing to Giles and retreating from the study. He hoped that he’d be able to hear what was going on from outside.

Spike made his way over to Riley, who stood to greet him. Hell, but he was a big guy – he probably had four inches in height on the prince. Fortunately, he looked like he had the disposition of a Labrador puppy, all open face and bright grin.

“Hello, Sire,” he said, offering his hand. “It’s great to meet you.”

Reluctantly shaking hands, observing Riley’s deep bow, Spike gritted out, “Pleasure, I’m sure.”

Immediately, he turned to his father. “What’s going on?”

Giles gave him a reproving look. “Now, Spike, let’s be courteous in front of our guest. I know that you have your concerns about the ball – and it’s certainly a lot of pressure to be expected to choose a consort from such a large number of people and on so short an acquaintance.”

“No,” Spike interrupted him. “It’s a lot of pressure to be expected to choose a bloke to shag when you only like girls.”

The king was obviously trying very hard not to get too annoyed with his son in front of Riley, so he took a deep breath and said, “We’ve been over this; let’s not rehash it now. As I was saying, I’m trying to make the situation more comfortable for you. I thought perhaps if you had chance to get to know someone who was a suitable match before the ball, then it would be an easier choice for you.”

Spike looked at Riley, who was shuffling slightly awkwardly. He was a nice looking lad and everything, but even if Spike could bring himself to like a fella – and that was a very big, very unlikely if – he didn’t think it would be someone built like a brick wall and who looked like he could snap Spike in half. He wasn’t a far cry from Sam’s size, and that was saying something.

Spike sighed harshly. “Dad, if you want to pick my...” God, he hated even thinking the word, let alone saying it. “Consort yourself, then why have the sodding ball in the first place?”

True, he absolutely didn’t want to have to pick some random man at the ridiculous, outrageous affair, but at least that would be his choice. The king had clearly already made the decision for him.

“I mean, what? Does Duke Wholesome here have land you want? Connections? Influence over the commoners?”

“Spike, stop it,” ordered Giles. “I’m trying to make this easier on you, even though you’re apparently too stubborn to see it. The ball is an important statement – our people are going through economic and social troubles, and they need to believe in the dream: that anyone can succeed, can become wealthy... can become royalty. We’re going to give them that hope. But you still need to make a choice that’s appropriate, sensible and advantageous.”

“Oh, so we’re just duping everyone. That’s all right then.”

The king simply glared at him, seemingly composing himself and reigning in his temper before speaking. Spike turned to look at Riley again, noting that he appeared horribly embarrassed and was hanging his head. Poor kid. Spike didn’t want to make him feel awful – it wasn’t his fault, and if he wasn’t very much mistaken, the whole shambolic situation had been forced on Riley just as much as on Spike. He doubted very much that the young man was there fully of his own volition.

Giles had decided that he couldn’t really trust himself around Spike without wanting to smack some sense and respect into him, so he thought that leaving would be rather prudent. He might as well leave the boys alone, not that he expected either of them to do anything useful; he was having second thoughts about Riley.

Firstly, he’d only seen – and never met – Riley before, and he was disgusted to find that he was very sweet and mild-mannered. That wouldn’t do. Giles needed someone who would keep Spike in line and ensure that the king’s will – _his_ will – was followed in all matters. Secondly, reports from his advisors indicated that Riley’s father had rather oversold their influence in the neighboring kingdom, on the edge of which their vast property was located.

“Why don’t I leave you two alone to...talk?” suggested Giles, giving Riley a nod and then exiting the room.

The two young men awkwardly avoided one another’s eyes for a moment, shifting in place. Finally, Spike sighed and gestured to a (thankfully large) loveseat over by one of the windows. “Want to sit for a bit?”

“Sure,” agreed Riley with a small smile.


	4. Chapter Three

Wesley enjoyed his “baths” tremendously – they were among the only indulgences that truly helped him unwind from his busy schedule of plotting to take over the kingdom. He returned to his chambers feeling warm and sated, but the tension returned almost immediately when Dean startled out of a near-sleep trance and gave him a guilty look.

Some day, he was going to have a lot of fun punishing the guard – Dean had a sort of vulnerability and innocence despite the debauched life he led with his brother. Wesley grinned malevolently, thinking about all that dirty incest. He crossed to his wardrobe and rang for his valet. “And where is my brother?”

“Hm? I don’t know. Been sitting here, waiting for you. Like always.” Dean gave a tired smile just a hair short of annoyed.

Dean was getting awfully good at toeing the insubordination line. Yes, some day…

“Since you’ve obviously not gone off to carouse with your brother, it’s clear MY brother is up to something, and I’d like to know what. Find them.”

The valet arrived, finally, and Wesley snapped his fingers to show his displeasure.

Dean ducked out of the room with a bow and a polite, “Your Highness”.

*****

“Dick,” Dean said, after the door to Wesley’s chamber had shut. One of these days, he’d find a job that was better than this one, some place he and Sam could go and be safe and openly together – where no-one knew they were brothers. When Dean found that, he’d give old Prince Weasel a nice fat slice of his mind. Possibly via carrier pigeon, in the interests of avoiding all that pesky beheading.

With a sigh, he set about finding Sam, or at least Spike.

*****

Having dressed and received Dean’s report on his brother’s whereabouts, Wesley stood in a secluded niche watching and could not believe his eyes – his brother was laughing, chatting easily with Duke Riley, who didn’t seem to be minding the attention. In fact, he put one large hand right on Prince Spike’s knee, and Spike didn’t bat it away.

“… riding along the frontier, just me and my dog,” Riley was saying.

“Don’t know what I’d rather be doing,” Spike replied with a sigh. “It’s like you never get to find out.”

“Hey, public life sucks, but you gotta admit it has its compensations.” Riley put his hand on Spike’s shoulder and they shared a smile. “We get to be miserable in the nicest surroundings.”

Wesley felt a mixture of outrage and something he didn’t want to admit was jealousy. The over-fed oaf! He wasn’t nearly right for the role! And how was Wesley supposed to revel in Spike’s humiliation if he found a partner he actually liked?

Wes strode into sight, clearing his throat loudly. He was somewhat gratified that Spike and Riley flinched away from each other, looking caught out. Wes almost couldn’t stop himself from smirking. “And just what are your intentions toward my brother?”

Riley jumped to his feet. “You must be Prince Wesley. I’m Riley.” His cheerful smile and extended hand drooped a bit at Wesley’s icy reaction. “Uh… Duke Riley. The king invited me.”

“Yes, I was informed,” Wesley lied. “Unfortunately, I believe it’s time for Duke Riley to go,” Wesley said. “His entourage is waiting. Come, I’ll escort you.”

Riley looked to Spike for reassurance and Spike looked warily at Wes. Wesley attempted to look pleasant and friendly.

“Where’s Dean?” Spike asked.

Wesley narrowed his eyes. Since when had his brother been so (properly) suspicious? “Dean!” Wes called.

Dean felt like a schoolboy coming out from behind the pillar Wes had told him to seclude himself behind. He scratched the back of his neck and shrugged before assuming a more appropriate stance.

Wes glared at him. He was almost as bad as Spike – they both acted like proper decorum was physically painful. Well, Wes would take care of that. Discreetly, of course – his father WAS still in charge. “As you can see, I have no ulterior motive but a chance to get to know my brother’s new suitor,” Wes held his hands wide. Spike scowled at the word ‘suitor’.

Riley held out his hand to Spike. “It was nice meeting you. I really hope we can be friends, whatever happens.”

Reluctantly, Spike accepted the handshake. “Cheers,” he said, “Wasn’t awful.”

Ugh. How romantic. Wes was quick to usher Riley away and down a side corridor that led both toward the front entrance of the palace and a connection back to the princes’ quarters.

“So… you and Spike don’t get along?” Riley asked.

Wesley stopped and put his hand on Riley’s arm. “On the contrary, we’re very close. My brother’s just under a lot of pressure, with the ball coming up. Which is why I’m so concerned. Tell me: how did he seem to you?”

Dean watched Wesley pouring on the charm with a growing sense of unease. He wished they’d gone around the main way, where Sam was no doubt waiting for Spike. Then at least his brother would know. He wasn’t sure what good that would do, but it would set his mind at ease. Wes had that oily smile that made Dean’s stomach clench. He feared this was going to be like the time Wesley “interviewed” new valets.

Riley seemed like a nice guy, too, blushing and stumbling politely around the ‘not liking dick’ part of Spike’s emotional condition.

That uneasy feeling got more pronounced when they arrived at Wesley’s chambers and Wes led Riley into the receiving room, shooting Dean a very clear ‘lock the door’ glance.

Wesley took a seat and patted the cushion next to him. “What about you, Your Grace?”

Riley looked confusedly around. “I thought we were heading out?”

“Just a little ruse on my part. I wanted to speak privately. I wasn’t entirely facetious before – I would like to know your intentions toward my brother.” Wes waved toward Dean, who stared blankly until Wes pointed at the liquor cabinet. (Some people! Wesley thought. Obviously, his valet wasn’t there; Dean shouldn’t have to be _asked_ to fill the void.)

Wes composed his face to one of pleasant expectation, eyebrows raised, waiting for Riley to speak.

Wait long enough, and most people will capitulate just to be polite. Riley settled into the proffered seat. “I don’t think you have to worry. I mean, Spike’s a very attractive guy, and I’d love to join your family, but Spike’s just not going to marry a guy.”

Approaching the couch with a bottle and two glasses, Dean’s eyes widened and he tried to will the big nobleman to shut the hell up. Their secret plan was, what? An hour old? And Spike already blabbed?

“But I’ll be happy to be the back-up plan.”

Wesley took the bottle and glasses from Dean and shooed him away. “What makes you say that? Surely the ball is going to carry on as scheduled?”

Dean’s bug-eyed staring must have had some effect, because Riley glanced briefly at him before answering. “Spike’s hoping to convince your father to cancel it before it gets too late.”

“How ever could he do that?” Wes followed Riley’s glance back to Dean, who studiously pretended to be watching the door.

“I don’t know. He said he had a plan.”

Wesley poured two glasses himself, not something he was wont to do when a servant was handy, while Dean considered causing a diversion or inventing an errand to get himself out of there.

Wesley had spent months perfecting the simple sleight-of-hand that he used to add a little something extra to Riley’s drink. He wished idly that Dean knew about it so he could enjoy having an audience appreciate his work. He handed the glass to Riley and waited for him to take a sip. “What’s his plan?”

“He didn’t say. Just that he had one, and no hard feelings.” Riley shrugged and set the glass down untouched. “Thanks for the drink, but I’m pretty sure I’m not going to marry your brother. I wouldn’t want to marry someone who didn’t want to marry me.”

“But my brother IS going to get married, and it will be to a man, and as you said, you’re his likely ‘back up plan’.” Wesley moved closer to Riley. “So what about you, Your Grace? Your preferences? Do you enjoy the company of men, Duke Riley?”

“I do,” Riley said. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Of course not.” Wesley used a reassuring pat on the shoulder as an excuse to move even closer. “But you understand that a concerned brother would want to be sure that his brother’s future spouse harbored no… unnatural perversions.”

Riley frowned and scooted back. “Sounds to me like you’re shopping for yourself.”

Wesley straightened, putting a little distance between them without moving back. “You’ve hardly touched your drink. Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No. I mean…” Riley shook his head and took a gulp from his glass. “What are you after, here?”

“Just to make sure the frontrunner for the position of Prince Consort has good, proper attitudes toward sex,” Wes said, as though this were an obvious, expected topic of conversation. “I may be the younger, but I’m quite protective of dear Spike.”

“I can appreciate that.” Riley looked uncertain.

“So, tell me the sorts of practices you would expect to engage in with my brother,” Wes said in his most schoolmasterish tone.

Riley raised an eyebrow. “Practices?”

“Sexual practices, yes. Fellatio, for instance. Are you fond of it?”

Riley blushed, looked away, and took another, long sip from his drink. “I, uh, I’m not into anything kinky, don’t worry.”

How precious! Wesley could feel the innocence radiating with the warmth of Riley’s blush. “Would you consider yourself a dominant partner? You are considerably larger than my brother.”

“Uh… well…”

“I’d like to see precisely how much larger.” Wesley’s hand rested on Riley’s knee.

Riley looked down at the hand on his knee then back up at Wes. “Are you talking about…?”

Wesley’s hand slid up Riley’s thigh to the hip and dipped between his legs. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt the poor boy.”

Riley picked up Wesley’s hand and put it on the sofa. “I’m normal for my size, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Let’s just make sure. It would be terrible if I had to, say, recommend against you as a suitor. His Majesty, our father, always listens to my advice.”

Dean coughed. “Hey! Look at that. It’s time for me to… go do that thing, uh, that you told me to do.”

Wesley shot him a searing look.

Riley stumbled off the couch, dropping his drink, he swayed a bit. “I really think I should go.”

“Hold him,” Wesley snapped to Dean.

Dean hesitated. Wesley darted to him and whispered, very darkly, “Or would you rather go fuck your brother?” Wesley’s anger melted into a nasty smile as Dean reacted to his words. “Yes,” Wes said, “think how uncomfortable I can make life for you and your brother, and mind the door.”

Dean swallowed a dry lump in his throat and took up a position in front of the room’s door.

Wesley then turned his attention to the stumbling Riley.

“Something’s not right,” Riley said, blinking and holding a hand to his head.

“You’re slightly drunk,” Wes told him and steered him back to the couch.

“No,” Riley shook his head. “One drink would never… ”

Wesley caught Riley’s wrist and pinned it to the back of the couch. “So you drink a lot, do you? I’m not sure my father would approve of my brother marrying a lush.”

Riley squirmed as Wesley crawled over him. Dean squirmed a bit, too; his conscience uncomfortable and also, he hated to admit, a little turned on. Wes was pulling Riley’s clothes off and damn, the guy was stacked like a brick meat house, and it was clear where Wesley was going with his cold, fuck-off expression rapidly gaining ground over the ‘nice guy’ veneer. Steely eyes, firm jaw with just a hint of stubble, those commanding hands just slapping Riley’s out of the way… damn.

Dean had a bit of a thing for toppy assholes. He hoped Sam didn’t figure that out – he got his way enough as it was.

Riley flew off the couch as Wesley shoved a finger into him.

“Hold him!” Wes snapped at Dean.

Riley all but fell into Dean’s arms as he stumbled toward the door. He looked wildly at Dean. “Help me,” he said.

“Sorry,” Dean said, feeling like a first-class heel. They wrestled a bit – it was no contest with Riley confused and disoriented by whatever Wesley had given him – and Dean soon had a firm grip on Riley’s biceps. (And fuck were those big. Dean’s hand slipped on sweat and he had to dig in harder than he would have liked just to hang on.)

Wesley ran a hand up Riley’s flank, causing him to struggle. “Good boy,” Wesley purred, and Dean wasn’t sure which of them he was referring to. (His stiffening cock wasn’t so sure, either.) Wesley settled down behind Riley and Riley pushed forward into Dean, grinding his muscular chest against Dean’s front in a very distracting way as he tried to escape.

Wesley looked directly at Dean as he pushed into Riley. Dean could feel the exact moment it happened, the stiffening of the body against his, and he tried to suppress the shiver of lust at Wesley’s knowing look.

Riley rested his head on Dean’s shoulder and went from struggling to holding on, giving up. Dean felt another shudder then – of shame. This was the most fucked-up moment of his life. And he regularly fucked his brother.

*****

Lindsey adjusted Angel’s outfit for the ball for what seemed like the fiftieth time, while Angel himself bantered with Caleb across the room, ignoring Lindsey except to berate him for pulling something too tight or not being careful enough with the pins. This was how it was. They would abuse him, and then an hour or two later, he was expected to just do his work while they acted like nothing wrong had happened. The calm between storms. Sometimes, if he was still and good and lied to himself just right, he could pretend they were a normal family.

At least Caleb had been perfectly content with his own simple, black outfit from the start – but, then again, he wasn’t planning on seducing a prince.

Lindsey could barely imagine all the beautiful outfits that would be worn at the ball – or what indeed Prince Spike would be wearing. He was sure to look amazing.

“Hey, Lindsey,” Angel unexpectedly addressed him, startling Lindsey out of his pleasant daydream of watching all the fine people dancing at the royal ball. “Did you see the invitation that came for you today?”

Angel’s tone was sly, mocking and amused, but he still sounded serious.

“For me?” questioned Lindsey in shock. He couldn’t remember receiving mail before. At least, if he had, no-one had ever told him about it.

“Sure. To the ball.”

Lindsey was so astonished that accidentally stuck the needle he was wielding into Angel’s wrist and received a hiss and heavy cuff to the ear in response. He murmured an apology.

“The boy can read, can’t he?” asked Caleb idly, shifting in the large, overstuffed chair that he lounged in.

“I think so,” replied Angel. “Not that you’d know it.”

“The king’s invited all the young, unwed men in the kingdom to the ball,” explained Caleb, “And that includes you. You can see for yourself if Mama hasn’t thrown it in the trash yet. Fancy gold lettering and all.”

Lindsey cast a longing glance at the door, but wasn’t stupid enough to leave the room without being dismissed. He knew that he could never go to the ball, obviously, but to get his own special invitation from the royal family, addressed specifically to him... he’d treasure it forever.

Angel smiled, a delicious idea forming in his mind. Studiously casual, he asked, “Do you wish you could go, little brother? Do you wish you could get all dressed up and drink and dance and laugh with all the other young hopefuls? Maybe catch the prince’s eye...?”

Lindsey shook his head, stammering slightly before replying, “I wouldn’t... I mean, I know I can’t...”

“That’s not what I asked,” pointed out Angel, and he could see that Caleb was now leaning forward in his chair, all rapt attention.

“I guess,” mumbled Lindsey, feeling his face heat as he stared down at his tattered shoes.

“What was that?” prodded Angel, ducking his head down to look at him.

He felt terribly uncomfortable; he never spoke about things he wished for. He wasn’t really allowed to have dreams. Trying not to sound as desperately longing as he felt, Lindsey swallowed and said, “Well, yeah. If it was possible, then it would be fun to go. To see the princes.”

Lindsey was obliged to meet Angel’s eyes when his stepbrother caught hold of his chin and forced it up with thick fingers.

“You see,” began Angel, tone regretful, “this is exactly what we were afraid of.”

“Huh?” questioned Lindsey, eyes darting across the room as he saw Caleb in his peripheral vision, rising to his feet and stepping over. He tried to pull back but Angel snatched hold of Lindsey’s bicep with his free hand. His heart began to pound as Caleb came up behind him, hemming him in.

“It’s just like we said. You want to go out there, into the big wide world, and you’re not prepared for it. In fact, it’s worse than we thought – because you obviously want someone to take advantage of you.”

“What?” gasped Lindsey. “No, I don’t!”

“Sure you do,” disagreed Caleb from behind him, clamping one hand down on his hip hard enough to make him whimper. “Dreaming of goin’ to this big, fancy affair, parading yourself in front of all those men...”

A vehement denial rose to Lindsey’s lips but Angel pressed his thumb there, hard, effectively shutting him up. “Oh, we know that you’ve got your sights set high, Linds – but you know that no prince is ever going to look twice at you. I bet you’d settle for any dick, huh? As long as someone showed you a little attention.”

Lindsey tried to shake his head, wincing when Angel gave him a sharp slap across the face. He tried to duck away from them both, but they trapped him between them.

“I knew this day would come. Didn’t I tell you that we were gonna hook you up?” asked Angel with a predatory smile, and Lindsey froze. He remembered what Angel had said, about how they’d be gone soon and couldn’t let him step into the wide world a virgin.

“No,” he whispered. He once again attempted to break free, crying out when Angel grabbed him by the throat and Caleb gripped his hair, giving his ass a couple of hefty smacks.

He wriggled, but didn’t have the strength or leverage to get away from them. Instead, he tried begging, although he was already aware how little that tended to improve his situation. “Please... Don’t do this. Caleb, you wanna be a priest! And Angel... you wanna be with the prince, but this ain’t the kind of thing that royalty does!”

Caleb and Angel looked at one another and shared a laugh.

“Ain’t he precious?”

Angel shook his head. “Lindsey, Lindsey... You can’t bargain with us. And if you think that neither the clergy nor royalty indulge in this kind of thing, then it just proves how little you know of the world.”

“Lucky we’re here to teach you,” breathed Caleb into his ear, nipping at the lobe.

As they both ran their hands over him, groping him, grabbing hard and almost impersonally, Lindsey stifled a sob; what they’d done to him before had been bad, but he couldn’t bear this kind of violation. He fervently prayed for his daddy to return home and save him, even though he knew deep down that it wouldn’t happen.

“The problem is, only one of us can be the first,” pointed out Angel, locking eyes with Caleb over Lindsey’s shoulder. Both of them were grinding their erections against him, oblivious to his scared and disgusted whimpers.

“Let me guess,” replied Caleb drily. “You’re thinkin’ it should be you.”

“Naturally,” grinned Angel in his characteristically entitled way.

“You’re gonna get to break in a prince,” argued Caleb as if he was talking about a particularly valuable species of livestock.

“Yeah – and he’ll probably be the last, unless it’s easy enough for me to get at the serving staff. _You’re_ gonna be breaking in little boys your whole career.”

They stared one another down for a moment, both unwilling to concede defeat. Lindsey had listened with mounting horror, for the first time realizing that his stepbrothers weren’t satisfied with abusing just him. Now that he considered it, it was obvious that they would want to hurt others – and had probably already done so. He felt heart-wrenching sympathy for the boys that were likely to be part of Caleb’s flock, and he desperately hoped that Prince Spike didn’t choose Angel as his consort.

His mind was forcefully dragged back to the horror of his own situation when a devious smile stole over Angel’s features and he said, “There’s only one way to settle this: we’ll let Lindsey decide.”

“Sounds fair,” nodded Caleb agreeably, nipping at Lindsey’s throat before murmuring, “So, who’s it gonna be, little brother?”

“Yeah, tell us who you want to give it up to. Who gets to fuck that sweet little ass of yours and make a man out of you?”

“God, no, please... No-one!” wept Lindsey, shaking his head, body rigid and shuddering from their unwanted attentions. “Don’t do this to me. I swear I’ll never go anywhere and never see anyone!”

“Oh, but you will,” sighed Angel. “And your pretty, obnoxious mouth is gonna make people wanna fuck it – and you. Now, do as you’re told and make a choice.”

Lindsey shook his head again, Angel’s body close enough that his forehead rubbed back and forth across his shoulder. “No, please, I can’t.”

“Lindsey,” snapped Angel, and Caleb yanked on his hair until his scared, wet eyes were forced to meet Angel’s.

“I’m losing patience. Either you pick, or we’re both gonna shove our dicks in you. Do you understand? How do you think that would feel – to take two big cocks at once your first time out of the gate?”

Lindsey let out a sob before he could stop himself. He just wanted to huddle into a ball until this nightmare went away – but he wasn’t asleep, and Angel wasn’t fucking around. He knew them too well to hope that they wouldn’t do that to him out of pure spite; if he didn’t choose, he’d end up with both of them ripping him apart. And no-one would care.

Weighing his options, he glanced between them. A vicious slap to his face hurried him along and he quickly stammered out, “A-Angel!”

He hated them both and couldn’t think of anything worse than having either one of them inside him, using his body. But, while Angel tended to mock and berate him more often – and probably initiated his abuse more often, too – he was still preferable to Caleb. He was brutal and nasty, but he wasn’t as terrifying, not to Lindsey. Caleb’s darkness ran deep; he had burning hatred in his heart and not the remotest scrap of humanity. Usually he looked at Lindsey as if he wasn’t even a person.

Angel laughed merrily. “Did you hear that, Cay? Little Lindsey loves me better than you.”

Caleb gave an amused growl, fingers digging into Lindsey’s flesh hard enough to leave black marks. “Maybe it’s just because my manhood is bigger...”

Lindsey suddenly found himself being dragged over to the large chair in the corner of the room and bent unceremoniously over it. He tried to struggle and kick out, but Caleb was helping Angel and the two of them easily kept him subdued. They also easily stripped him out of his ragged clothes, leaving him completely naked across the chair while Angel did nothing more than drag his dick out of his pants.

Lindsey couldn’t help begging them to stop, even though he knew it would only spur them on. He’d been forced to suck and touch them many times, but he’d hoped that he’d never have to endure this final violation.

“Got anything slick?” panted Angel as he slotted in behind the struggling boy, Caleb pinning his upper body to the cushions.

“Why would I?” Caleb replied with amusement. It was less fun if you lubricated them first.

Angel rolled his eyes. Typical religious type: cared nothing about his own comfort. “I don’t want to chafe my tender parts, thank you very much.”

Caleb shrugged and leaned forward. Angel had already dragged Lindsey’s thighs apart, exposing him, and Caleb spat directly on his desperately clenching hole. “There you go.”

“Gee. Thanks,” retorted Angel, but he spat on Lindsey too, before licking his own hand and giving a couple of rough tugs on his cock. Evidently, he decided that would be sufficient for both of them.

Lindsey screamed when Angel brutally drove inside him in a couple of hard shoves, body arching desperately in an attempt to escape the intrusion, but held immobile by Caleb’s big hands.

“Fuck,” hissed Angel, grabbing Lindsey’s hips and fucking into him with a loud groan. “So goddamned tight.”

Caleb slapped a hand over Lindsey’s mouth, not because he was concerned anyone would hear him and rush to his rescue, but because he liked the hot, panicked breaths he could feel over his knuckles, the tears that wet his skin and the sound of the muffled cries.

Even after spending over half his life being hurt and beaten, Lindsey had never felt pain like it. He knew that he was bleeding. But the pain somehow wasn’t as bad as the hopeless, trapped feeling and the revulsion he felt at having his stepbrother inside his body. He just hoped that it would be over quickly.

Angel didn’t bother drawing it out, slamming into Lindsey hard and fast and smacking his ass, grasping him with enough strength to bruise. He grunted and swore, eyes trailing lasciviously over Lindsey’s naked skin and the way that Caleb was keeping him quiet, murmuring God alone knew what in that sinful voice of his. Whatever he was saying, Lindsey was crying harder, trying to twist away from him.

“Fuck!” shouted Angel as he snapped his hips forward, unloading into Lindsey’s ass. He slumped forward, feeling the wracking tremors of Lindsey’s body beneath him.

“Shh,” he soothed as he petted a hand through Lindsey’s hair, falsely comforting. “It’s over now. You don’t have to worry about anything, because I promise you that no-one’s gonna want a dirty, used-up little slut...”

“Certainly not royalty,” added Caleb, sharing a nasty grin with Angel. They both knew the childish fantasies that Lindsey entertained to lighten his bleak little world. It was fun to ruin them.

Angel pulled out, making Lindsey squeal again, and he idly played with the pink-tinged come dripping out of the boy’s abused hole. “Look at this, Caleb. Guess you won’t need any extra lubrication...”

Feeling Lindsey stiffen even further beneath his hands, breath giving a panicked hitch, Angel laughed. “You didn’t really think you were gonna get out of here without your other big brother having a turn, did you?”

Caleb chuckled, stepping around the chair and pushing Angel out of the way. “I think he did. That’s cute.”


	5. Chapter Four

Dean would have been perfectly happy living his life without ever knowing he could simultaneously feel turned on, disgusted, ashamed and bored.

Wes had admirable staying power. Riley had shaken off whatever it was Wes had given him and renewed his struggles. That required some brute work, wrestling and holding, but it wasn’t enough to distract Dean from what was going on, and he started to silently promise to be a much better person from here on out if Wes would just fucking come already.

He was just about desperate enough to reach around and give the guy a hand when Wesley’s eyes rolled up and he let out a long, low groan.

Wesley slumped and Dean gratefully let go of Riley, who jumped to his feet and swung at Dean, who only just dodged the punch, raising his hands.

Wesley’s said, clear and calm as though they had just been discussing the weather, “You may go.”

Dean gaped at the prince, who was calmly righting his clothes. Riley stood with his red face turned away, fists clenched, just breathing hard.

Wesley glanced up. “And by ‘you’, I mean Duke Riley. I’ve no more need of you, thank you, Your Grace.”

Riley’s eyes flashed fire. “You. I’ll…”

“What?” Wesley smiled, smug and confident and sated. “Tell my father? Trust me, he’d rather side with his son, especially when I’ll have corroborating testimony from my guard that you drunkenly threw yourself at me.”

It was Dean’s turn to glare at the floor, feeling helpless and hating it.

Duke Riley made as quick an exit as humanly possible, snatching up his shirt rather than putting it back on.

Wes chuckled. “He’ll make quite a sight, running through the halls all disheveled.”

Dean couldn’t believe the casual tone.

Wes picked up his still-full glass of whiskey and resumed his seat on the couch. “I’m contemplating telling Father I caught him in flagrante with Spike. I wonder what his reaction would be?”

Clearing the lump from his throat, Dean said, “Can I go?”

Wes looked down at his drink. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Right now I’d like some time alone and a gallon of brain bleach, thanks, Your Highness.”

“I bet,” Wes said darkly, somehow laying Dean open in two syllables. He set down his glass. “This is what you are going to do, Dean Winchester. You will go to your idiot brother and together you will do everything you can to destroy my brother’s little plan and see to it he attends the ball and chooses a consort as intended. You will do this, and succeed at it, or the next time I amuse myself, it will be with your brother.” Wes gestured vaguely toward where Riley had been ravished. “Right before I tell my father what you two have been doing to each other in his castle.” Wes picked his glass up and leaned back. “It’s just filthy.” He smiled and drank with visible pleasure.

Dean took a step forward. “You’re threatening the man you trust to watch your back.”

Wes gave him an “aw, that’s cute” look. “NOW you may go.” And he turned his attention so fully to his drink that even Dean thought he had already left.

This time, when the door closed behind him, Dean’s habitual whisper, “Dick,” seemed a weak and inadequate rebellion.

*****

Lindsey ran, blinded by tears, stumbling down the stairs and out into the farmyard until he tripped over a stone and fell into the soft earth of the vegetable garden. He lay where he landed, face into the dirt, sobbing his heart out.

He didn’t care if he ever got up again. He wanted to die there and be buried under the vines. He was in so much pain, it radiated down his legs, through his stomach, making him feel incontinent and ashamed. He felt like now anyone could look at him and instantly know how he’d been defiled, not once but twice. He was exactly what his brothers called him – damaged goods, used and worthless. He couldn’t even have the refuge of his dreams anymore. No-one would want him now, and certainly not a beautiful prince.

He cringed as he heard a step close by, and a shadow fell over him as he shrank back, but instead of a blow he felt a gentle hand rest on his head. “Hush,” a kindly voice said. “That was a good cry, wasn’t it? Good to get it out, but don’t worry, Uncle Lorne is here, and you’ll have no more reasons to cry.”

Lindsey wiped a hand across his nose and peered up at the strangest man he’d ever seen in his life. His skin was green, for a start, and he was dressed in garish purples and blues.

“What… who are you?”

The smile should have looked frightening, red lips spreading wide over demonic features, but it wasn’t, it was kind and gentle. “I’m your godfather, sweetpea. Now let’s get you out of this dirt.”

Lindsey was confused, but he was so ready to surrender to kindness after so much cruelty that he let the strange man help him up and lead him across the garden to the potting shed, where Lorne cleaned his tears with fresh cold water and a linen handkerchief.

“Look at that, just a little polish works wonders with great raw material,” Lorne said, cupping Lindsey’s chin and turning his face to check for missed dirt.

Lindsey blushed under the scrutiny, thinking of the hands that had so recently touched him. “Th-thanks, but I’m not anything.”

“Oh, pumpkin, who made you believe that? You’re scrumptious. Now tell me your dreams. Tell me what you wish for, hon. I’ve been a negligent godfather and I’m here to make up for lost time.”

Lindsey hung his head. Dreams? Wishes? It would be cruel to himself to even think of them. “I can’t.”

“Then just sing me a song,” Lorne said, patting his hand. “Singing can make you forget your troubles. You get to be someone else for a while.”

It was so unconnected from anything he’d thought about in so long. Lindsey nodded, hesitantly. “My mama taught me a good song, years ago.”

And though his voice was raw and rough from crying and at first he started out wrong and forgot the second line, he sang, and Lorne watched him intently, the melody carrying his dreams through the still air.

*****

Dean was surprised to run into Sam in the corridor halfway back to their own rooms.

Sam said, “Dean. Where’ve you been?”

“You don’t want to know. We need to talk, Sam. Now.”

“Later,” Sam said, patting Dean’s arm and stepping around him.

“No. Dude. Now. This is major.”

“I’m sure you think it is, Dean, but I’ve got Princess Drusilla sneaking in the servant’s entrance any second now and she’ll be pissed if I’m not there to meet her.”

“Princess…?”

Sam smiled widely. “A goldmine. More than willing, she couldn’t wait! Her handmaiden – I’ll tell you about it later. Just… go to our room, I’ll be there quick.”

And Sam ran off, leaving Dean’s jaw hanging.

*****

When the door to his chambers opened, Spike was pacing madly and checking his reflection every ten seconds to make sure he still looked dangerously hot and like he didn’t really care what he looked like. At the sound of the door he dashed to the nearest seat, not wanting to look like he had been pacing, either, but there wasn’t anything next to the chair by the fire – no book to pretend to be reading – so he jumped up again, lest he be _obvious_ , and was therefore somewhat stupidly standing in the middle of the room when Sam entered, bowed, and presented Princess Drusilla.

Drusilla giggled and held her hands clasped over her head like a little girl stretching. “It’s delicious in here. Bubbly tension and pressure. Mmm…” She rolled her shoulders, bringing her arms down behind her, and gave Spike a knowing, lascivious look, “Daddy’s so demanding.”

Spike gaped, entranced by the liquid way she moved her body, flexing and swaying under her diaphanous gown of purple silk. He frowned slightly at her words, but the message in her eyes was perfectly clear. He took a step toward her. “Hello cutie,” he said, giving her an obvious look over.

Sam looked smugly pleased with the reactions the two royals had to each other and bowed again. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

Spike and Drusilla hardly noticed him leaving. Drusilla swayed up to Spike, twining her arms around his neck. “We’re going to make a baby!”

Spike’s hands dropped to her hips and he enjoyed the feel of them. All the same, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “You don’t want to talk a little first? Maybe… uh, have a few drinks?”

“We must be quick, my pretty prince. Bad fairies are plotting against us.”

Spike tilted his head, admiring the dark pools of her eyes. “You really are completely mad, aren’t you?”

“Only a little,” Drusilla pouted. Her hips rocked against him. “Play rough with kitty! Grar!”

Spike shook his head, “Don’t have to ask me twice,” and his lips descended to her rich, dark ones, for a delicious kiss that was sensual and firm, like eating a plum. He nipped at her lower lip and she bit back, hard and wild.

The door crashed open. “Stop!”

Spike and Drusilla turned in each other’s embrace to see Dean rush toward them, stopping just out of arm’s reach, his hands in front of him. “Just… stop. Back away from the princess. She’s, uh… poisoned!”

Spike scowled, noticing that the door to his chambers had been kicked open, the richly carved frame cracked. Drusilla leaned against him, and Spike squeezed her waist close to his side. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? Get out!”

“A dragon!” Dean said. He pointed to the window. “Uh… dragon attack. The prince is needed right away.”

“There’s no dragon, you half-wit. Where’s my guard? Sam!”

Drusilla laid her head on his shoulder. “No pleasure and lovely press of bodies. The time has passed.”

“Hush, love, we’ll get back to it as soon as this git leaves us the fuck alone.”

Sam pushed open the door, gaping at the crack in the molding. “What the hell? Dean?”

Drusilla tilted her face to Spike’s ear and stage-whispered, “He loves his brother. Loves him like chocolates. Mmmm… loves to hold him down and push and grind.” She jerked her hips forward in demonstration.

Dean’s eyes got big, and Spike assured him, “Don’t listen, she’s mental.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean coughed.

Sam grabbed Dean by the arm. “Let’s go.”

“We can’t,” Dean jerked his arm out of Sam’s grasp.

“Dean, we need to make sure no-one heard you kicking the door in. If a regular palace guard comes, then Drusilla will be discovered.”

“Bad dogs,” Drusilla said.

Sam gave her a look. “Right.” He grabbed for Dean’s arm again, and Dean smacked his hand away. So Sam grabbed again, and a bit of a slap-fight initiated.

“Both of you, fuck off and leave me and my date alone!” Spike shouted.

Which, perhaps, was not a good idea, shouting at the top of his lungs with the door wide open, because if it wasn’t Dean crashing through it that drew the Chief of the Palace Guard, who ran in, it might have been the shout.

“Fuck,” Spike said.

“Hey, Gunn,” Dean said, smiling. “Uh… I had nothing to do with this.”

Gunn looked confused for a second, then straightened, giving Spike his most unimpressed expression. “I think you’ll have to come with me to the king,” he said.

“Dick,” Sam muttered, jabbing Dean in the back with his fist.

“I’ll explain,” Dean hissed.

Spike gave them both a cold glare as he let go of Drusilla. She took his arm and together they followed Gunn out of the room.

*****

“Dude. What the _fuck_?” growled Sam as soon as Spike and Drusilla had been escorted away by Gunn.

Dean cast a glance around to check they were definitely alone and attempted to close the broken door, giving up when it would no longer slot into its frame. The king was going to hand his ass to him if he heard about that.

“Well?” demanded Sam impatiently, giving his brother a little shove to recapture his attention.

“Well? Well, everything’s fucked,” Dean informed him. “Spike, genius that he is, told Duke Riley that he had a plan to get out of the whole consort thing, and Riley let it slip because Wes drugged him. Right before raping him right in front of me, by the way, which wasn’t traumatic as fuck, thanks for asking.”

“And you just, what? Stood there and watched?” demanded Sam, shocked, even though he didn’t know what Dean could feasibly have done to stop it. It was hardly the first time a guard had needed to turn a blind eye to the younger prince’s actions.

“Shut up,” snapped Dean, still guilty about what had practically amounted to participation on his part. “It gets worse.”

“Worse?”

“Yeah, much worse. Wes said that we had to put a stop to Spike’s plans or he was going to tell the king about us.”

He didn’t mention Wesley’s threat to abuse Sam because, well, prince or not, Dean would slit his throat before he let anything happen to his little brother.

Sam shook his head, uncomprehending. “About us... ? Us what?”

Dean gave Sam a withering look. “Us taking our brotherly love a couple steps too far. You remember, Sam: that minor issue about us fucking each other in the ass?”

Sam visibly paled. “What? He knows about that?”

“Apparently.”

“How? I- Did you say something?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s right, Sam. One day over tea I casually mentioned the fact that I like to nail my baby brother at every opportunity. Of course I fucking didn’t!”

Sam held up his hands, although he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it had to be Dean’s fault somehow. “All right, fine. All that matters is that he knows. What the hell are we going to do?”

Dean shrugged helplessly. “Well, not antagonize him, for a start. Because he _will_ tell King Giles, in graphic detail, and getting fired will be the least of our worries. You know it’s illegal, right?”

“Yeah, Dean, I’m aware of that,” replied Sam sarcastically. It wasn’t a capital crime, but who knew how the king would react to it? Exile would be bad enough, but he might do worse; he might have them imprisoned, tortured... separated. It didn’t bear thinking about.

“We can’t give him a reason to do it, Sam. You have no idea what a fucking dick he is,” emphasized Dean, thinking of the cold and brutal way that Wes had fucked the poor duke and dismissed him.

“Okay, okay, don’t worry,” said Sam. “We’ll just do what he says. You’ve ruined Spike’s plan anyway; the king’s going to send Princess Drusilla away and probably keep a tight rein on Spike until the ball.”

“Probably worse than that,” muttered Dean. He felt guilty, especially considering the harsh reprisal that the prince was likely to endure, but the sad fact of the matter was that protecting his brother – and himself – was more important.

“Yeah, I know,” sighed Sam, who couldn’t help but notice that he’d done a pretty shitty job of serving his royal charge. “But there’s nothing we can do now. We just need to lay low, stay quiet, and hope that Wesley forgets about us.”

“And the fact that we were _helping_ Spike,” added Dean, looking skeptical. “How likely do you think that is?”

Sam didn’t reply.

*****

King Giles had managed to remain controlled and polite while arranging for Princess Drusilla to be escorted back home in one of the royal carriages. Nutty as a fruitcake or not, he didn’t want to start a war with her family and he spared a few minutes to write a flowery and carefully worded letter to accompany her, so that she didn’t return beneath a cloud of disgrace.

(Unlike Duke Riley, who’d been herded back to his father with a great deal of deprecation and humiliation, having failed to inspire the affections of Prince Spike and resorted to drunkenly throwing himself at Prince Wesley. Or at least that was the story that had accompanied him – and Giles had cared little for its veracity, having been so bitterly disappointed that the ridiculous oaf wasn’t the domineering stud that he had hoped.)

However, once Drusilla had gone and the king had dismissed his guards and the rest of his entourage, he felt his fury flooding back full force.

The heavy oak door had barely closed behind Gunn when Giles grabbed hold of his eldest son, spinning him around and thrusting him up against a stone pillar with his fists wound tightly into his shirt.

“Perhaps you’d like to explain to me what that girl was doing here?” he hissed dangerously, savoring the flash of pain on Spike’s face as he was knocked back against the solid rock.

“Nothing!” insisted Spike somewhat stupidly, grabbing hold of his father’s wrists to steady himself. “Dad, put me down.”

Giles’ only answer was to slam his son back again, hard enough to rattle his teeth in his skull.

“Ow, okay! Look, what the bloody hell do you expect?” demanded Spike. Being defensive and accusatory was probably a bad idea, but he’d been caught red-handed anyway, so it didn’t matter all that much what he said. He was still going to pay for it. “I told you I didn’t want to be with a bloke so I thought...”

“Thought what, exactly?” asked his father curiously, face mere inches away and eyes flashing dangerously. “That if you screwed that vapid simpleton, then our families would be forced into a union on account of her virtue?” He scoffed. “Sorry to break it to you, son, but I think that horse bolted some time ago.”

Spike frowned for a moment, irrationally put out by the slight on the princess’ virtue; she’d seemed lovely to him. A vicious shake soon had him focusing back on the matter at hand. “No! I thought...I thought that if she was pregnant then we’d have to get married.”

Giles stared hard at him for a moment, feeling a cold little rush of relieved adrenaline that the youngsters had been caught in the act. True, it wouldn’t have changed anything that was going to happen, but if Spike had somehow succeeded in knocking her up, then they’d have had a bastard pretender to the throne. He was surprised that his son had conjured such a plan; it wasn’t his style. So much so that – when he was less enraged – Giles would have to take the time to consider who might have been whispering in his ear.

The king shook his head contemptuously. “And you thought, what? That you could impregnate her tonight on the first try and that she’d miraculously know that she was with child before the ball that’s in two days’ time...?”

“Um...” Okay, so maybe he hadn’t really thought it through. But, honestly, how was he supposed to know how these things worked?

Giles rolled his eyes. “And you really expect me to believe that you’re straight? When you clearly don’t know a thing about women! I don’t know why I bothered to separate you two; I sincerely doubt you’d have been able to perform.”

Spike glared at his scornful father. He’d got far enough with Drusilla to know that he’d have been perfectly capable, thank you very much, and it wasn’t like he was completely inexperienced. “Bugger off.”

The king’s eyes narrowed as he glowered darkly. “You’re in enough trouble as it is without antagonizing me further, boy. You plotted behind my back, in my own castle. You deliberately disobeyed me, trying to derail the plans that I’ve put in motion and have _ordered_ you to abide by!”

By the time he’d finished he was practically roaring, and Spike involuntarily cringed away as far as the pillar would allow. The magnitude of what he’d done – and the sheer stupidity of getting caught – hit him like a ton of bricks and he cursed the fact that he’d listened to Sam and his interfering brother. The king could lock him up in a tower and never let him see the light of day again for this sort of behavior!

Except that he wasn’t that lucky.

“You listen to me, sunshine. This ball _is_ happening, you _are_ going to pick someone suitable to be with, and you _will_ do exactly as you’re told. Is that clear?”

Spike looked helplessly at his father. “Dad, I’m sorry. Truly, I am – I was being stupid. But can’t you understand? It’s not fair! Do you want me to be miserable forever?”

Giles eyed him coldly, lips even curving into a small smile. “I couldn’t care less. All I’m concerned with is you doing what I tell you – and accepting the fact that I know best.”

Spike was shaking slightly from leftover adrenaline, fear and impotent fury. His complete lack of options made him reckless and he stared his father down.

“You know what? You can take your orders and shove them up your arse. I may not be able to stop you from doing whatever you want, but I don’t have to just go along with it.”

Giles raised an eyebrow, smile widening at the insubordination, even as he felt his anger rising in him, red and hot. “That’s sweet. It reminds me of when you were a toddler and you used to cross your arms and stomp your feet.”

Before Spike could protest the patronizing words, he found himself hauled away from the pillar and yanked across the room, thrown rudely and painfully against his father’s enormous oak writing desk. He cried out as he slammed into the wood, a stripe of radiating agony indicating where bruises would be springing up in the near future.

“Do you remember how I used to deal with your temper tantrums then... ?”

“Dad, no,” wheezed Spike, getting his hands underneath himself and trying to push to his feet. He gritted his teeth as a large hand smacked into the center of his back, shoving him back down. He certainly did remember the range of punishments that had stretched far into his adolescence and still occasionally made an appearance now, from prolonged spankings with leather or birch to closed-fist beatings.

“Stop whining,” ordered the king shortly, reaching across the desk to rummage in a drawer on the other side. He felt Spike stiffen beneath him and then attempt to shy away from where their bodies were suddenly in intimate contact. He rolled his eyes as he snatched up the metal ruler that he was looking for. “Consider yourself lucky; I can’t very well mark you up for the ball – you’re going to be a hard enough sell as it is with that infernal attitude – so you’re getting off extremely lightly.”

Spike tried to suppress his shout as the metal cracked across his ass, burying his face against his arm. In a way, his father was right: he should be grateful. After all, the king didn’t want him damaged and for once he was being punished without an audience of the king’s guards, his own or both. However, it was difficult to remember that as the ruler paddled his rear and thighs, leaving searing stripes of pain.

Fire blazed through his skin and he tried to focus on his anger at the injustice of it all, attempting to stave off the burning tears that stung his eyes. He needed to man up if he was going to find a way to get control of his own life.

Despite his best intentions, when his father finished several minutes later and was barely even ruffled in spite of the exertion, Spike was sobbing.

As Giles disgustedly threw the ruler down next to him with a clatter, he sank to the floor and buried his head in his hands.


	6. Chapter Five

Lindsey finished his song, blushing as the spell of music passed and he realized he was sitting in a garden shed with a strange man. But Lorne smiled warmly and squeezed his hand like Lindsey had just given him a precious gift.

“You WILL go to the ball, pumpkin, and when you do, that scrumptious prince will fall helplessly in love with you. Just leave it to old Lorne.”

He couldn’t quite believe the words, and he didn’t know how Lorne knew what was in his heart so specifically, but his words gave Lindsey the strength to do what he thought was far beyond him: he stood. “I gotta get back.” He wiped a tear from his cheek, but his eyes were already dry. He felt a warm, solid thing in his chest he recognized, distantly, as hope.

“You do that, sweetpea, and don’t worry – I’ll find you when I need to.”

Lindsey nodded and took a step toward the door. “Wait… but how did you…?”

When he turned, Lorne was gone. Lindsey felt a prickle of excitement and fear, the sense of being fairy-touched.

Lorne smiled indulgently at him from behind the shed. Sometimes it paid to add a little magic by diving through a window, even if it wasn’t the most dignified thing for a man of his height.

*****

“It’s not going in.”

“Push harder. It’ll fit.”

“Dean! I’m pushing as hard as I can. The hole’s too small.”

Dean, leaning all his weight against the broken doorjamb, glanced up through his sweat-clumped eyelashes. “Now where have I heard _that_ before?”

Sam let go of the door and threw his hands up. “It’s just not going to fit. You really know how to break a door down, Dean. Thanks a lot.”

Dean gave up pressing the wood together. It sank back out, despite the generous globs of wood-glue they’d squeezed into the cracks. “Not my fault the dead bolt’s bigger than your dick.”

“And you know all about that,” Sam smirked, “but this is carpentry. We need real help. Professional help.”

A gentle chuckle from the other side of the door caused both boys to step back. Wes pushed the damaged door open gently and smiled at them coldly. “I couldn’t have said it better, myself.”

Sam and Dean met each other’s eyes. Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “I should see if Spike needs me.”

“I don’t think His Majesty would like being disturbed while disciplining his son, do you?” Wesley raised his eyebrows at them and stepped more fully into the room, moving the door closed – as closed as it could get – behind him.

“What do you want?” Dean asked, tiredly. Wes was obviously playing the cat toying with the mouse. Mice. They were so fucked.

Wesley smiled as though he’d read Dean’s mind. “My father would also not be pleased to hear what you two have been up to – even the parts that don’t involve incest.”

“We get it,” Sam said, with a quick attempt at a smile and a placating gesture. “You want to blackmail us. Name your price, you got it.”

“Way to open the bidding, Sammy,” Dean muttered, taking up a position next to his brother.

Wes walked into their personal space, just between them, and looked from one to the other with obvious glee. “Well, for starters, I’d like a demonstration.”

Dean was confused. Sam looked gobsmacked. “A what?”

“A demonstration. Fuck each other. I want to see how you do it.”

Without meaning to, the brothers took a quick step away from each other.

“Listen,” Dean said, “I did what you told me to.”

“Yes, broke the door down and everything,” Wesley said. “Very impressive, but my father will have stopped listening before you get to the dramatic twist in your narrative. He’ll be thinking up your sentence.”

“Why do you even want this?” Sam asked. “You could ask for…”

“Don’t give him ideas,” Dean whispered.

“…anything else,” Sam finished, trying to look diplomatic on top of annoyed.

Wes walked past them. “Do you really want to play with me? The price for my silence will only go up.” He sat in a chair by the foot of Prince Spike’s bed. “We can start slowly. Kiss each other.”

Normally, there was very little Sam liked more than kissing his brother – but that was in private, alone, and when they both wanted to. Now Dean was looking at him like he had poisonous spiders on his lips.

Sam took a step toward Dean, wooden and unsure. Dean turned to face Wes, a hand up. “What, exactly, are we getting for our little porn-show here?”

Wes crossed his arms and looked up, seeming to consider. Finally, he spoke in a friendly, businesslike tone, “If you don’t do as I say, and everything I say, I’ll tell my father about your sinful relationship and about your plot to aid my brother in disobeying the king. That is, by the way, treason, and punishable by death. But I’m sure father will have something more creative in mind for you, before the final axe blow.”

“Shit,” said Dean.

“Eloquent as always. You’re making me wait, boys. I don’t like that.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Sam raised one shoulder in a half shrug. Dean grimaced. Sam looked mildly offended. Dean grabbed him by the arms and pressed a quick, dry kiss to his lips.

“There. Happy?” He turned to Wes, bouncing on his toes, itching for a fight.

“Not nearly,” Wes purred. “Again, with tongue this time.”

Sam and Dean both leaned in on the same side and had to stop and re-set. Suddenly kissing was odd and unnatural.

Sam put his hands on Dean’s shoulders and Dean gripped Sam’s biceps harder. They hit their teeth together and Dean’s nose was painfully smashed, but he shoved his tongue into his brother’s mouth anyway. Sam sort of gagged a bit, and then returned the gesture, hard tongue-fucking that wasn’t anything like what they normally did, and at the same time, exactly like it. The mechanics where there, the taste, the feel, but it was all off, like a separation had formed between them, a numbing just under the skin. Dean shivered.

Wesley leaned back in his chair, letting one hand fall to his lap, just the fingertips brushing his cock through his slacks. He wanted to draw out his pleasure, focusing on the sight before him. “Get your hands into it, gentlemen. Grope his ass.”

Not knowing to whom that was directed, both brothers obligingly reached down and gathered up a handful of flesh. Their uniforms crumpled and lifted around their forearms, exposing their white shirts underneath, and Wesley licked his lips at the fulsome flesh squeezed in hard, white-knuckled hands. He should have thought of this years ago – two for the price of one, as it were. He could see the shame and fear on their faces, the tightness around the eyes as they both tried not to look at him. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, enjoying the scent of shame, arousal, and cold sweat.

The door burst open with a sound of additional splintering.

Sam and Dean jumped back from each other, panting and clothes rumpled. Spike stood in the doorway, his face tear-streaked, his eyes red-rimmed, his mouth open in shock.

“Brother!” Wesley called out, standing. “Do come in.”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Spike looked straight at Dean, then, frowning, he looked between the two brothers. “What are you _doing_ here?”

While Sam and Dean coughed and stepped back, trying to find anything to look at but each other, Wesley calmly stepped around them and grabbed Spike’s elbow. “The Winchester brothers were just about to give a demonstration,” Wes said, drawing Spike into the room. “And come to think of it, you would be well served to watch. It may come in useful on your wedding night.”

Spike jerked his arm out of Wesley’s grip. “Out! The bloody lot of you get out of my room! Wait, not you.” He pointed at Sam. “I suddenly really don’t want you two both out of my sight at the same time.”

Wesley cleared his throat. With an “isn’t he cute?” expression he stepped in front of Spike. “No-one is going anywhere. Sit down, brother.” He pushed at Spike’s shoulders.

Spike smacked Wesley’s hands away. “Don’t touch me again or I’ll –”

“Call the guards?” Wesley raised an eyebrow.

Spike faltered a bit, looking back at Sam and Dean and then at Wes. “I –”

“Oh, or how about running to father?” There was no hiding the cruelty in Wesley’s voice, or his smile. This time, when he pushed, Spike’s resistance was weaker and he took a step backward, toward the bed.

“I can’t believe you, Wes,” Spike said.

“Believe me. Your little scheme has been found out, and your accomplices have confessed. You have a choice here – stay and watch me punish them, or go tell our father. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you again so soon.”

Spike was quivering with anger, and Wesley found himself actually hoping his brother would finally crack and DO something for a change, when Dean Winchester made his unwelcome presence known.

“Wes… Sire… let’s just call it a night.”

Spike turned to glare at Dean, which was ironic, considering that the man was actually helping his cause. Wesley grabbed Spike bodily and shoved him down onto the bed. “Get back to work,” Wes hissed at Dean, and focused his attention on his brother.

Spike winced with pain as his ass hit the bed, Wes certainly noticed that, and he was shaking as he tried to force Wes off of him – not from fear but exhaustion and pain. Wes grinned and placed a kiss on Spike’s ear. “Father really worked you over, didn’t he?”

“Let me go,” Spike cried in frustration.

“No, darling. It’s time to see some real brotherly love.” Wesley kept a firm grip on Spike, sliding along his brother’s body to sit next to him on the bed. His fingers dug into Spike’s nape, directing his face forward, where the two Winchester boys were looking even more afraid and unsure.

Good. “I think it’s time you undressed,” Wesley said.

Dean flinched. Sam raised and lowered one arm in an abortive motion. They both looked intently at the floor as though wishing it would swallow them. Sam peeked through his bangs at Wes and Spike. “With your brother here?” he asked.

“Does that bother you?” Wes drew Spike closer to him, in a mockery of affection. “Does it smack of incest?”

The dead silence answered that question clearly enough. Spike squirmed in Wesley’s grip, trying to get free. Wesley dug his fingers in harder. There was a sheen of sweat on Spike’s skin now, and uncomfortable heat building between them in their rumpled clothing, but Wes didn’t let up a bit.

He watched Sam and Dean mouth words to each other and make tiny gestures with eyes and hands, both trying to convince the other to do something.

They could overpower Wes, if they decided to, but they wouldn’t. Wesley thought he would come from that thought alone.

Swearing to himself, Dean hastily unbuttoned his shirt and threw it off like he was getting ready for a fight.

Sam looked at his brother like he was the one insisting he undress and, with a sigh, followed suit more sedately.

“Help your brother,” Wesley said, politely, like a parent. His cock twitched in the confines of his trousers and he stroked the back of Spike’s neck with his fingertips. Like a plucked string, Spike’s neck shivered in response.

This was really turning out beautifully.

Dean and Sam got in each other’s way, reaching to ‘help’.

“Dean.”

“Just let me do it.”

Exasperated, Sam gave up and crossed his arms, lest he get into a slap-fight over his fly with his brother. In front of witnesses. Dean then promptly pulled Sam’s pants down, and as he leaned forward to do this, he got slapped in the face with Sam’s dick as it sprang free.

Wesley laughed, loud and bright like a child. Everyone else was as silent as the blood pooling beneath their blushing cheeks.

“It has a mind of –”

“Yeah,” Dean cut off Sam’s whisper and stepped on his trousers to force them the last bit down his legs.

When Dean pulled open his own fly and shucked his pants, his cock was flaccid.

“Well, it’s clear you can start by getting Dean more into the spirit of the proceedings,” Wesley said.

Dean put a hand on Sam’s shoulder to stop him as he lowered himself. “Can’t we just get this over with?”

“It’s no fun looking at that,” Wesley flicked his wrist at Dean’s limp cock. “And besides, Spike will need to know how this works.” Spike was staring fixedly at a point on the wall to his left. Wesley squeezed his neck. “Pay attention.”

Spike renewed his struggles then, while Sam got awkwardly to his knees.

“Don’t,” Dean said.

“It’ll be okay.” Sam soothed his brother with a palm on his hip. Dean shook his head. He felt rubbery with dread and unable to look anywhere but at Sam; knowing there were other people in the room just made it all so much worse, like he’d never thought about it being wrong before, not like this.

Sam’s lips closed over the tip of his cock and Dean gasped. Sam looked up, meeting his eyes, and that helped. Suddenly, they were alone, just them. Dean forgot that he wasn’t going to let himself get hard. He combed his fingers through Sam’s hair, taking hold as his brother took him deeper.

And it was good, real good, right until Wesley said, “There we are,” insinuating his voice between them.

Dean flinched. Sam gagged, and Dean’s now-hard cock dropped out of Sam’s mouth with a load of saliva, smearing across Sam’s lips. His cheek was blush-hot.

“I can’t do this,” Dean said, pushing Sam back.

“You don’t have to,” Wes said. “I think he’s hard enough for our purposes. Don’t you, Spike?”

“Fuck off,” Spike said.

Wes laughed. “Exactly. Glad you’re keeping up, brother. So, Dean, your baby brother has been very kind to you. I think it’s time for you to return the favor by letting him fuck you.”

Dean looked over, lip curling in distaste. “You got what you wanted, okay? We’re about as humiliated as we can get.”

“That isn’t what I wanted. I wanted to see you fuck each other like the incestuous perverts you both are. Now get to it.”

“Hey. I’m not bending over and taking it just because some prince says.”

Wes just smiled and waited. Spike looked like he was going to be sick.

There was no clear place to lie down, or bend over. Wes didn’t offer any advice. Dean didn’t want to turn his back on the princes, and he didn’t exactly want to look at them either.

Sam scooted back on the floor. “We could… uh, I could…” Sam looked over his shoulder at Wes and then back at Dean. “I don’t really want to do this, either way.”

Dean sank to his knees and the brothers held onto each other, both shaking.

“You boys had best get on with it, or I may become bored and decide to increase your punishment.”

Sam and Dean shifted, looked each other in the eye, and then Sam gave Dean a nudge, and he grudgingly, slowly, turned his back on his brother.

Sam’s dry hand ran over Dean’s flank, fingers trembling just a little. “We need lube.”

“No. I’m sure you’re both well-adjusted to each other.”

Dean flinched away. Sam held onto him. “Damn it, we’re doing what you asked, but I’m not hurting him.”

“So spit on him. I’ve seen you do it that way. In the gardens, up to your elbows in new-turned earth. It was… filthy.” Wes said the word “filthy” with a wide smile, like it was a delicious, rare morsel in his mouth.

“Sammy…”

“It’ll be okay.” Sam’s face quivered a bit as he realized his mouth was completely saliva-free. He bent to lick his brother’s ass.

Dean flinched again, jerking under Sam’s ministrations and nearly breaking his brother’s nose. “Shit,” he said. He balled a fist and beat it on the floor as the unwanted, intense sensations hit him.

He was relieved when Sam inserted two fingers roughly and added a familiar burn.

He told himself it wasn’t exactly like being raped as the watery cramp of fear joined the pain of being filled.

“You’re not watching,” Wes hissed at Spike, giving his neck a particularly hard squeeze.

Without trying to look up, Spike casually said, “Dad’s going to be mad at you if you leave a bruise on me.”

“Yes, we all know how he hates visible damage. Fine, don’t look. But don’t blame me when your husband complains you don’t know anything.” Wes smoothed his hand down Spike’s neck, like he was brushing away the harsh treatment he’d given that stretch of skin, and he took a firm grip of Spike’s opposite shoulder instead.

Sam worked his way in slowly, which was hard because he wanted to just get it over with. He kept looking back at Wes to see if he was watching, and of course he was. He hoped at any minute they’d be allowed to stop. He didn’t know why he thought that was possible. He knew he was hurting Dean, and he hated that, but he was afraid if he stopped he wouldn’t be able to continue.

Dean hissed and punched the floor.

Wes rubbed his cheek gently over Spike’s. “Listen to that – the slide of flesh against flesh. The slap of balls against ass. You don’t have to look. I know you’ll remember every second of this.”

The sounds of fucking were increasing, filling the otherwise silent room with grunts and slaps. Sam worked as hard as he could, but he wasn’t anywhere near coming; the stimulation was enough to keep him hard, but the humiliation kept pulling him away from completion.

“Come on!” Dean snapped, pushing back.

Sam could hear the sound of tears close to the surface of his brother’s voice. Helpless, Sam grasped for a firm hold on sweat-slicked skin. His knees were sore and cold on the hard floor. He struggled to find an image in his mind to push him over the edge.

That time in the garden, the fresh earth crumbling over their skin, sticking to their sweat and marking them in trails of dark and light. The cool, open air, that special knowledge that they could get caught at any second…

Sam glanced at Wes and Spike. Wes, very lightly, licked Spike’s ear. Spike shivered in disgust and pushed away. Sam came, hard, filling his brother’s sore, hot ass.

They collapsed together, shaking and even colder now they were sweating on the marble floor.

Dean wouldn’t look back at Sam, but crawled toward his discarded clothes.

There was a sound of struggle. Spike was free of his brother at last, leaning against the wall for support, one hand scrubbing at his ear. “Now get out. All of you.”

Wes stretched indolently. “Yes, I suppose that will do, for now. Come, Dean.”

Dean looked at Wes like he’d suggested he go wading in a pool of hot lava. “You want me to come with you?”

“It’s your job,” Wes said, smugly. “There now, punishment is over, all’s forgiven.”

He waited by the door like an indulgent master while Dean hurried into his clothing. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath, and limped out after the prince.

*****

“Ah, come in, my boy. Sit.”

Angel bowed at the king’s gracious welcome, and then settled himself into a beautifully plush chair as he cast a glance around at the sumptuous decoration. Yes, he could certainly get used to this finery.

“It was very kind of you to invite me, Your Highness,” he said after the necessary pleasantries had been made and tea had been served. They were now alone, except for the Chief of the Palace Guard, who Angel couldn’t help but notice was a rather gorgeous, dark hunk of handsome. He was fairly sure that Giles didn’t choose his servants – particularly the ones protecting the lives of the royal family – for their looks, but it did seem marginally suspicious, especially since he’d glimpsed both of the princes’ guards too. Nice.

Still, he should probably save his perverted thoughts – and his decisions about whether it was safe to act on them – until _after_ he’d managed to ensconce himself in the castle.

“Delighted to, Angel,” smiled Giles. “Your mother sang your praises highly. And she’s... a persuasive woman.”

“So I’ve heard,” replied Angel, pretty certain that he could guess how Darla had managed to convince the king to see him. He loved his mother, but had no illusions about her; she’d always said that the men around her got stupider and more malleable in direct proportion to the amount of time she spent on her back.

“Prince Spike is... Well, how shall I say this? My son has had a sheltered upbringing in many ways and there are things about which he’s naive. He’s also never really shown the interest or aptitude for learning vital skills in strategy and politics that his brother Wesley has. It seems to me that as Spike comes to majority and his power increases, he’s going to need... guidance. Of course, he’ll have his advisors and Wesley, as well as me, but I fear that – without a strong partner to... uh... support him – he won’t be as inclined to listen to advice as he should be.”

Angel took in Giles’ aspect – leant forwards, hands steepled under his chin, brow furrowed. He was the picture of fatherly concern. What a beautiful performance it was, he noted with a certain amount of admiration.

“I understand, Sire,” said Angel, face schooled into his most serious expression. “And I think it’s commendable for you to concern yourself with his welfare in this way. It’s evident from what you’ve said that a firm and steady partner, a man of the world, who understands the issues at hand and knows how to steer the prince toward the guidance of his family, would be the best thing all round. And clearly you’ve done right in wanting a man for the job.”

“Quite,” agreed the king. “He’d be too easily distracted by a woman – and they’re fickle, emotional creatures. If one were to whisper bad counsel in his ear, he’d probably listen. Besides, I feel that a woman wouldn’t have the _presence_ to alter my son’s perspective if he misjudged something.”

Angel sagely nodded his understanding, although inside he was jumping with glee. It was _so_ much better than he’d hoped! Giles was dancing around the issue and prettifying it, but it was damned obvious – as his mother had hinted – that he wanted someone to control Spike utterly, to make sure that he followed his father’s and his brother’s commands without making a fuss. And, best of all, to force him back into line by any means necessary.

Angel couldn’t wait.

“Prince Spike will have enough to worry about, without any contention of that kind. Having someone firm and strong will be a help – and, ultimately, a comfort – to him, I think,” said Angel, looking the king steadily in the eye. His words were diplomatic and vague, but he hoped that the older man could understand his intent well enough to realize that they were on the same page.

“Oh, indeed. I think he’ll soon learn to enjoy and even rely on the company of a man.” Giles smiled, somehow managing to convey from his expression both that he thought his son had the potential to become a slut for cock – and that he couldn’t give a toss whether he actually did end up liking it or not.

“I hope so,” said Angel earnestly, giving his most charming smile. “And, given what you know of me and what we’ve spoken about, I hope that you’ll consider me as appropriate for the position of Prince Consort. I wish that we could have longer to get to know one another, but since the ball’s tomorrow...”

The king waved away the desire. “Oh, it’s a non-issue. I believe I know everything that I need to. Quite apart from the fact that you seem like an eligible match, your family – on your mother’s side – has some interesting contacts that may be politically useful.”

There was no point in beating around the bush with Angel. He was a proper man who understood how things worked, just like his delectable mother, and Giles knew that he’d be able to be frank with him.

“You don’t think that the prince will find me objectionable?” asked Angel, although it was clear from his tone that he couldn’t really imagine why any red-blooded human being wouldn’t want to fuck him.

Giles appraised him. He certainly was a handsome man and it seemed as though he knew exactly how to use his size and bulk, unlike that damnable Duke Riley. Of course, Spike probably wouldn’t be overly keen, no matter how attractive he was, but that was of little import.

“I shouldn’t think so, although at the ball I’d suggest that you lay the charm on thick, pretend a certain coyness and even innocence that I rather doubt you possess. Spike’s new to this sort of thing and I don’t want him getting spooked.”

“Not a problem,” asserted Angel, who would happily fake the ‘big, dumb and gentle’ routine until it was too late for Spike. “So... I’ll do that at the ball and...”

“And I’ll try to arrange it so that the two of you have a little uninterrupted time together. Although the ‘rules’ dictate that he has to have the chance to speak to everyone.”

“And you think he’ll pick me?” Angel knew he was hot and that he could lie convincingly to be everything Spike was most likely to go for, but they couldn’t guarantee that the prince wouldn’t select someone different. Perhaps someone a little more feminine than Angel...

“Perhaps,” shrugged Giles. “It would be better if he did. But, either way, that’s the choice that the papers will reflect the following morning.”

Angel couldn’t prevent the wolfish grin that broke out across his face and the king laughed approvingly, forgoing the tea and pouring them both a brandy.

*****

Spike sat in his chambers, attempting to sprawl carelessly in an armchair but too nervous and agitated – not to mention still uncomfortable from his beating – to manage it.

It was barely mid-morning, but a veritable army of women were soon going to descend on him to “help” him get ready for the ball that evening. All protests he’d made regarding not being a bloody girl and being able to dress himself had fallen on deaf ears. He wondered whether his father considered that he’d be less of a flight risk if surrounded by people.

As if he had anywhere to run to, anyway.

Sam poked his head around the door before gently pushing it open and stepping inside, trying to be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. He kept his eyes lowered shamefully, shuffling silently from foot to foot as he stationed himself in the corner.

Spike didn’t want to talk to him. Hell, he didn’t want to _look_ at him, but he couldn’t get the images of what Wesley had forced Sam and Dean to do out of his head. He was disgusted by the fact that they were sleeping together, and the whole thing had been horribly confusing. He’d known theoretically how men slept together, but what Sam and Dean had done hadn’t looked fun at all – not for Dean, at least. It had looked painful and traumatic, and why would someone do that to a person they were supposed to love?

Although he hadn’t meant to speak to Sam, he found himself suddenly asking scathingly, “How’s your brother?”

Sam startled, as if he’d fully expected – and hoped – to be ignored.

Sighing, he gave a little shrug, still staring at his feet and snatching peeks at Spike through his bangs. “He’s all right. Upset with Wes, but... He still has to guard him. He’ll get past it.”

“He should let him get assassinated, if anyone tries,” growled Spike darkly. Shaking off his rage at his own brother, he said, “How can you two do that? You’re _brothers_. It’s wrong and perverted.”

Sam flushed. “I know. And I can’t defend it, but... try to understand. We were brought up in the palace, alone, trained from our earliest memories to be your bodyguards. Even Dean doesn’t remember our parents. We’ve never been allowed outside except for training or to accompany you and Wes. Except for Bobby, we’ve never really had anyone else in our lives and we’ve been brought up to see everyone and everything as a potential threat. We just...” He gestured helplessly. “We don’t trust anyone else.”

“And that makes it all right?”

“No, of course not, but –”

“That makes what you did to Dean all right?”

Sam faltered. “What?”

“Last night. You hurt him,” accused Spike.

Sam’s jaw clenched and he said tightly, “Your brother didn’t give us much choice. Either I did that or we both ended up dead – or worse.”

Sam hated what he’d done, although Dean had understood and hadn’t blamed him. All of Dean’s rage was directed at Wesley, although Sam could find it in himself to be glad for small favors; it was better that Wes had forced him to top because Dean probably wouldn’t have been able to go through with anything that involved hurting his baby brother.

“Is it always like that?” demanded Spike, and through his brash anger Sam could hear the fear and uncertainty. He abruptly understood that the prince was concerned about the life that his father was consigning him to with a man.

“No, of course not!” Sam took a breath to calm himself, and then stepped further into the room, eventually daring to sit himself on the footstool close to Spike’s chair. He wanted to reassure the prince and thought that he’d probably let him, even though he was persona non grata at that moment.

“Look, Wesley was making us do something shameful and horrible. Ignoring for now the fact that we’re brothers and shouldn’t be doing it, what you saw wasn’t anything close to the intimate, loving act that it’s supposed to be. When Dean and I are alone together, willingly, it’s completely different. It feels good for both of us.”

Spike looked uncertain. “So it doesn’t hurt?”

Biting down on the urge to reply with, “Only if we want it to”, Sam shook his head firmly. They paused for a moment, lost in their thoughts, and then Sam said quietly, “I’m sorry that we couldn’t get you out of the ball, Sire. And I know that you don’t want a consort, but at least you can make the best of it. Choose someone who you think you can learn to care about, and who you believe will do everything they can to make you comfortable and happy. You’re worried about the sex – of course you are. But the right guy will make it good and teach you how to enjoy it.”

Spike smiled humorlessly, although there was a vague glint of hope in his eyes. “Do you think there’ll be any guys like that there? And how will I know?”

“There will be, although I doubt that your family will be steering you toward them,” replied Sam regretfully. “Don’t listen to what they’re saying to you. Look in their eyes. They’re called the windows to the soul for a reason.”

Spike appraised him thoughtfully for a moment, absorbing that. Then he broke the moment by snorting and rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe that you topped Dean. You’re such a girl.”

“Hey!” protested Sam, although he grinned. “Just because I’m comfortable enough with my masculinity to be sensitive...”

Spike chuckled and then let his head thump back against the chair. He felt marginally better about the stupid ball, and he supposed that he just had to accept that, while what Sam and Dean were doing was undoubtedly wrong, at least they loved one another. However, something else – something much bigger and more troubling – was haunting him.

Almost whispering, not sure he really wanted to say it aloud, Spike said, “I think Wes wants to... do things to me. I think that’s why he made you and Dean do that.”

Sam shifted on his seat, face crumpling sympathetically. “Yeah... I kinda think that too.”

“What am I going to do? You and Dean can’t protect me because of what Wesley’s holding over you. And Dad... He wouldn’t believe me.”

Sam thought that the king probably would believe Spike – but that he almost certainly wouldn’t care.

“We’ll do what we can to keep you apart. But, Sire, this makes it even more important that you pick the right Prince Consort. Just... don’t choose someone who your brother can corrupt. Choose someone who’ll be on your side. Because, you know, it’s not just your brother...”

“What do you mean?” asked Spike sharply.

“Your father doesn’t want you to have an heir. At some point, he’s going to try to force you to stand down and let Wesley take the throne.”

Spike glared for a moment, trying to hold onto his indignation and disbelief. But, ultimately, he knew that Sam was right. He sighed. “Yeah.”

They were interrupted then by the gaggle of ladies who’d come to groom Spike to within an inch of his life, but the prince managed to give Sam a small, appreciative smile before the guard was shooed unceremoniously into a corner.

One thing was for damned sure: he wouldn’t be picking a consort that his father and brother approved of.

*****

“What the hell are you doing... ?”

Lindsey jumped at the sound of Angel’s voice, flushing guiltily and trying to hide the cast-off material behind his back. “Nothin’.”

Angel walked further into the room, glancing between the mirror and Lindsey. He’d seen the flash of dark silk that Lindsey had hurried to whip away from where he’d been admiring it draped over his chest. “Are you... imagining what you’d look like? All dressed up in a fine outfit?”

“No!” denied Lindsey, pink all the way up to his hairline. Acute as his embarrassment was, he was still aware of the fact that Angel was heading toward him and he took a couple of steps backwards, instantly wary.

“That’s cute,” sneered Angel. “Playing dress-up like that. What did you think, Lindsey? Did you think you looked pretty enough for a prince to fall in love with you?”

Lindsey stared at his feet as Angel laughed derisively. The mysterious Lorne’s words had given him a glimmer of unfamiliar hope, even though he didn’t believe that he’d actually get the chance to go to the ball.

Lindsey gasped as he was unexpectedly grabbed hard, yanked forward until his face was unbearably close to Angel’s hot breath puffing over his cheeks.

“You’re not going anywhere, do you understand me?” hissed Angel, shaking his stepbrother harshly, trying to look as threatening as possible.

Surprised, Lindsey instinctively twisted his way out of Angel’s grip, pushing him away. He didn’t understand why Angel was overreacting so completely; it wasn’t as if he had any chance of capturing Prince Spike’s attention even if he _could_ go. Suddenly incredibly, irrationally furious, he unwisely advanced on Angel, glaring, and demanded, “What the hell’s the issue? You scared or somethin’, huh? Worried that you could have competition from your little slave boy?”

Silence reigned for a moment, both of them equally shocked. Angel was astonished, and also slightly concerned. Lindsey had barely been away from their property and the only company he’d kept had been his contemptuous family, so he had no idea just how gorgeous he was and how much attention he was apt to receive out in the world. And Angel intended to keep it that way.

“How dare you, you little shit?” growled Angel, darting his hand out and cuffing Lindsey hard around the face. Lindsey was so annoyed that he barely flinched, despite the persistent fear that Angel might fuck him again while he had the chance.

Angel was irritated by the lack of reaction, so he threw a short, vicious punch that felled the younger man to the floor. Lindsey just stared up at him, unmoving, not even wiping away the blood dripping from his mouth.

Indefinably perturbed by Lindsey’s behavior, knowing that there wasn’t time to properly terrorize him before he had to start getting ready for the ball, Angel reached down and grabbed hold of Lindsey’s hair. “I don’t have time to deal with you now. I’ve got a prince to fuck. But just to make sure that you don’t get any ideas...”

Lindsey cried out, more in surprise than pain, when he was dragged toward the large wardrobe of the dressing room. Too late, he began to fight, but he couldn’t prevent Angel from muscling him into the wardrobe and slamming the door closed, immediately locking it. Lindsey shouted and banged loudly, demanding to be let out. He hated being in small, enclosed spaces; Darla had locked him up a lot during his life, usually in the cellar where there were bugs and rats.

“Shut up,” ordered Angel, much more composed now that Lindsey was safely locked away. “If Mother hears you, she’ll beat you far worse than I have.”

Lindsey reluctantly quieted, trying to figure out if there was a way he could escape once Angel was gone.

“Oh, and Lindsey?” said Angel, right up against the door. Lindsey could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice. “The king himself wants me to be Prince Consort – and to lie to that pretty little bitch any way that I have to in order to get him to pick me. I’m gonna do exactly the same thing to him as I did to you... It’s gonna be beautiful.”

Lindsey slumped in the corner as he heard Angel’s laughter drift away, filled with sorrow for Prince Spike. He only wished that he had the power to help.


	7. Chapter Six

Spike was washed, pressed, powdered and styled within an inch of his life. They even put makeup on his eyes. He tried to protest, but the girl had explained it was the king’s orders and looked so guilty and sad, he gave in.

To her credit, she made the hint of blue and black liner hardly noticeable. Still, Spike looked at himself in the mirror and saw a complete poof in blue and black silks. The suit was the very latest fashion, and very tightly fitted, the trousers hugged his arse like a second skin. Every motion pressed fabric tight to some bruise, reminding him of his father’s beating.

At least when Sam came by in his dress uniform for the ball, he looked almost as ridiculous. “Ready?” Sam asked.

Spike glanced in the mirror one last time and tried to smooth down the ‘artfully tousled’ hair they’d given him.

“And by that,” Sam cleared his throat, “I mean, His Majesty expects you in the ballroom now.”

“Bollocks,” Spike said, and let Sam lead him through the bustling staff.

*****

Lindsey had settled into a fitful sleep when the door to the wardrobe opened. He flinched from the light and fresh air at first, until his vision cleared and he saw the kindly, smiling face of Lorne. “Rise and shine, crumbcake! It’s time to get you to the ball!”

Lindsey cautiously crawled out of the wardrobe, but there was no-one but Lorne in the room. “What are you doing in our house?” he asked. “Where’s Darla?”

Lorne shook his head slowly. “What you should be asking, sugar, is ‘where did you get that fabulous suit?’” And with a flourish, Lorne produced a suit from behind his back even finer than the one he’d helped alter for Angel. Lindsey gaped.

“Well, don’t just sit there catching flies, sweetpea! You have to get dressed while I get your other present – here’s a hint: a sweet little old mare is getting a nice new saddle! Okay, it’s not a hint – but I don’t do subtle.” The glint of spangles on Lorne’s suit certainly attested to that as he dashed from the room with a wave.

Lorne returned to help him with his hair, tsking about ‘volume’ and ‘moisture’. The fussing was oddly intimate and made Lindsey cringe, but in the end he had to admit he looked pretty good. “I could eat you up,” Lorne said.

That didn’t sound so good coming from a guy with horns and red eyes, but Lindsey ducked his head. “Thanks.”

“Just one last thing to get you going.” Lorne produced a box from his pocket. “This was your mother’s.”

Inside was a simple silver bracelet with a fleur-de-lis charm. Lorne put it on Lindsey’s wrist. “She would have wanted you to wear it, tonight.”

Lindsey stared at it, almost tearing up. “How did you know my mother?”

Lorne looked sad a moment, but then laughed and pulled Lindsey after him out of the house. In a whirlwind of activity, Lindsey found himself on Pickup, with, as promised, a fresh new saddle that matched his suit. Pickup had been groomed, too, and tossed her head with eagerness in a brand-new bridle. She looked ten years younger and ready for a night on the town.

“Go get ‘em, killer. Now remember, your less lovable family will be home by midnight, so you need to get back before then. Now hurry or you’ll miss that scrumptious prince!”

Lindsey gathered the reins up. “I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you for this, Lorne.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something. Now get a move on! The night’s not getting any younger!”

Lindsey tapped Pickup with his heels and she took off like a shot, as ready as he was to leave the farm behind. He smiled madly as they galloped onto the main road, feeling like his life was finally turning around.

*****

Spike looked out on the ballroom with a sense of dread. The room was mostly empty, cavernous, with servants and entertainers flitting around making last-minute adjustments, but already he felt like he was on stage, and everyone in the room was picturing him arse-up and naked.

Including his father. King Giles greeted him at the base of the grand staircase with a critical eye, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him slightly this way and that, examining him for defect.

“You’ll do,” he finally said.

Spike rolled his eyes and shrugged away the feeling of hard fingers digging into him. “Ta ever so. They only spent nine hours polishing me.”

Giles ignored him. “When the ball begins, you will stand on the landing. The ushers will bring each guest to you, one at a time, to be greeted. You will be welcoming, polite, but not overly familiar. You will not fidget or move from this spot until the last guest arrives. Do I make myself clear?”

It sounded like bloody torture, but then, what choice did he have? The looming dread of what would come after he chose a consort far outweighed it. “Yes, Sire.”

“The vast majority of guests will be unacceptable candidates for Prince Consort,” Giles said. “They are not to know that, and you are not to choose them.”

Spike scowled, despite it all unable to hide his annoyance. “How’m I supposed to know?”

Giles’ smile was sinister. “You will discuss your decision with me before you make it.”

“Before YOU make it, you mean,” Spike said, the realization settling in his stomach like a cold stone.

Giles patted his shoulder, ending with a harder-than-necessary squeeze. “See it doesn’t come to that.”

Spike felt even more exposed and vulnerable as his father left him to find his place.

*****

Lindsey slowed Pickup to a walk as the palace loomed before them. It was even more magnificent than he had expected – and huge! He had never seen such large walls before, much less so many fine windows and balconies.

Ornately decorated coaches came and went in front of the main entrance, a decorous parade that he definitely felt out-of-place in. Even Pickup felt it, side-stepping nervously in place as matched teams of grays passed.

An officer on a black stallion approached. “You there! What party are you with?”

Lindsey stammered and stumbled over what to say, looking for an escape route, when the officer saw the invitation in his hand and snatched it. “Ah, come with me, Mr. McDonald. We’ll get a groom for your horse.”

Just like that, he was being led through the gates. His rubbed his sweating palm on Pickup’s neck, not quite ready to be parted from his only friend.

*****

Spike had already greeted at least a hundred possible suitors, all of them eyeing him like a sack of gold waiting to be carted off, when Wesley stepped up beside him and put a proprietary hand on his back.

“Bugger off,” Spike hissed, trying to shrug him off.

“Just making sure the star attraction isn’t wearing himself out,” Wesley purred. “You’ll want to save some energy for dancing. Look at all those men just waiting to get their sweaty hands on you.”

“Thanks, Wes. You’re really helping.”

“I hope that suit washes well.” Wes stroked the satin.

Spike jerked his elbow back at his brother, earning a shocked expression from the dignitary in front of them. He had to straighten and greet Lord Whoever politely while Wesley loomed, a threatening presence, behind him. Two more minor nobles shuffled past. They were all interchangeable, all rushing to spout some compliment in their five seconds of guaranteed face-time.

“Lady Darla, and her sons, Angel and Caleb,” the majordomo announced, and a diminutive lady alighted the steps, glittering in a gown of silver encrusted with gems. Her larger sons flanked her in darker colors, one in a modest and unassuming suit, all austere and severe, the other dressed to the nines in dark red and black, his face as warm as his brother’s was stern.

“Your Highness,” Darla dipped down in a curtsey that somehow drew attention straight to her décolletage. Maybe it was that she herself seemed to be looking at it. Spike was momentarily mesmerized by the two perfect globes of captive flesh. Then she smiled winningly at him. “May I present my sons, Angel and Caleb? They have both greatly looked forward to meeting you, though I should warn you, Caleb has his heart set on a life in the clergy.”

Caleb’s bow was perfunctory and aloof, and Spike was glad to hear he wasn’t going to be getting any pressure from that quarter. The bloke had a decidedly creepy vibe. Angel, however, stepped just a shade too close, and before Spike could back up or object, he leaned forward and grabbed Spike’s hand, giving it a firm shake, “See you when the torment is over.”

Darla’s eyes widened in scandal, but Spike felt something relax in his shoulders and he laughed. “Right.”

“I’ll save you a drink,” Angel added, and made it sound like an apology for leaving while Spike had to stay and greet people. His hand dragged, as though regretting the loss, out of Spike’s, as the majordomo made it politely clear it was time for the next greeting.

“That bloke seems all right,” Spike mused aloud.

Wesley snorted.

That Wesley didn’t like him definitely improved Spike’s opinion of Angel. Spike’s eyes followed the brunet as he followed his family down the stairs and back into the crowd. Darla looked to be scolding him behind a false smile, but Angel looked unconcerned, happy and relaxed. Spike envied him that confidence.

“Lady Joyce, escorted by Alexander.”

As Spike reluctantly drew his gaze away from the one person who had promised an interesting time that night, his eyes caught on a figure at the main entrance.

His hair was a little long and tousled, his face ruddy with the glow of a fresh ride in the night air. Instantly, Spike knew this was a man who didn’t belong here – or the palace, the stuffy crowd, didn’t belong around him.

Lady Joyce and her friend had to pass by with barely a second of Spike’s attention as the stranger at the door glanced up, and their eyes locked from across the room.

*****

The sight of Prince Spike standing on the balcony, radiant in all his finery, literally took Lindsey’s breath away. But he knew that it wasn’t the sumptuous surroundings or the beautiful clothes; he truly believed that Spike could be dressed in sackcloth and still outshine everyone in the room.

He stared up in admiration, heart galloping in his chest when it seemed that the prince was looking directly at him instead of properly greeting the young hopeful bowing low before him. Deep blue eyes locked with his and Lindsey was sure that he could feel fireworks exploding inside him. It seemed that the musicians were playing directly to them, every other person in the room had disappeared, time had slowed to a delicious, anticipatory crawl and –

“Excuse me,” someone crossly interrupted his internal rhapsody. “But could you move out of the entrance? You’re blocking the way.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” mumbled Lindsey, red-faced, shuffling to the side.

Suddenly all too aware that he didn’t know the first thing about social niceties, and certainly nothing about ball etiquette, he was about to flail in panic and possibly run away when an officiator practically pounced on him and ushered him toward the back of a fairly long queue.

“You’re the last to arrive, Sir,” said the man, somehow managing to sound both exactingly polite and irritably scolding at the same time. “You won’t have long with the prince; we’ll have to start the ceremonial dancing soon and he still has all these fellows to meet.”

Not sure whether the man was imparting information or whining about the schedule, Lindsey just nodded dumbly until the words really sank in. “Wait, the prince? I’m gonna be _meeting_ him?”

“Of course,” replied the guy as if Lindsey was a total dumbass, before turning his back on him and suspiciously eyeing the room, like he thought that someone might try to rejoin the queue so that they got an extra few seconds with Spike.

Considering the way that several men looked disappointed and slunk away, he had good reason to be suspicious.

Lindsey nervously followed the line, restlessly pulling on his clothes and trying to smooth down his rather unruly hair. What the hell was he going to say to the prince? He was sure that everyone before him had been full of articulate compliments and witty repartee, whereas he had a nasty suspicion that he might stand there slack-jawed for a moment before blurting out his undying love.

Still, no matter how much of a mess he was bound to make of the whole affair, at least he would have his brief, beautiful moment in the sun. Now that he’d seen Spike in person, he was even more sure than before that he was the most perfect man in the world.

Biting his lip, Lindsey peered around the somewhat portly young man in front of him to get a better look at the prince.  
  
He didn’t know if it was his imagination or nervousness, but suddenly the queue seemed to move a lot faster.

*****

“Thank you; lovely to meet you too,” said Spike distractedly, standing on tiptoe and trying to peer down the line.

“Spike!” admonished Wesley as the surprised and disappointed young man slumped his shoulders and slouched away. “You didn’t even give him chance to introduce himself, let alone offer the compliment that you thanked him for.”

“Hmm, what?”

Wesley rolled his eyes. “Really, this is ridiculous. I know you’re rather socially retarded, but you’re supposed to be giving each of these men a fair chance.”

Ignoring the fact that yet another contender was bouncing from one foot to the other, continually starting toward him and then dancing back because he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to interrupt the princes’ conversation, Spike finally brought his attention back to Wesley with a heated glare.

“Why should I give them a fair chance?” growled Spike. Surely, given the disproportionate volume of minor nobility in the room, everyone could see that it was all a fix anyway? “Dad’s just going to pick whoever the bloody hell he wants anyway.”

Wes didn’t bother to stifle his smirk. “Well, obviously. But you should still maintain the illusion.”

Spike snorted derisively and went back to peering toward the back of the queue, barely even grunting at the poor young man who’d finally plucked up the courage to present himself, accidentally stumbling over his own name twice.

Wesley frowned. At first he’d assumed that Spike was simply eagerly awaiting the last guest and an end to the parade of men, but he was beginning to wonder; his brother seemed so focused on something...

“What are you looking at?” he hissed suspiciously between guests, craning his neck around Spike.

“What?” Spike flinched almost guiltily, suddenly paying studious attention to the job at hand. “Nothing.”

As Spike attempted a smile that he was pretty sure came closer to a grimace, he wondered what on earth he was doing. Why _was_ he so eager to get another good look at the pretty little latecomer? While it was true enough that the lad was gorgeous, and Spike could appreciate beauty wherever he saw it, Spike knew that it was more than that. He’d never fancied a bloke, but something about the boy just called out to him. He was utterly different from anyone at the ball – and most people that Spike had seen in his life, actually – and the prince could just sense something in him that he wanted to get to know better, to understand.

Finally, the moment arrived. The last Baron Pompous Prat of Where-the-fuck-ever had drooled all over him and Spike found himself face to face with the man who had so captured his attention with one longing glace across the ballroom.

“I present...” The majordomo quickly flicked his eyes to the name that had been hastily scrawled on the bottom of his list by the harangued officiator; he didn’t recognize the young man. “Lindsey Mc...” The consummate professional, he eloquently coughed to cover the fact that the end of the kid’s name was illegible. “Son of John.”

Lindsey stepped in front of Spike and gave a little bow that managed to be both shy and careless at the same time, before raising his arresting denim-blue eyes to Spike’s, tossing his bangs out of his face. His gaze was full of wonder and adulation – and the most intense vulnerability that Spike had ever seen; it was like he couldn’t hide anything from the prince.

Slowly, Lindsey smiled, his whole face lighting up like sunshine, and he gave an almost helpless, self-deprecating shrug. “Hi.”

And, just like that, Spike was smitten.

The prince had always been a romantic, and – although he’d never have admitted it – in his heart he’d always known that love would hit him like thunderbolts and lightning. That one day he’d see that perfect person across a crowded room and it would be a done deal. In all honesty, it was one of the reasons he’d been so furious with his father forcing the Prince Consort arrangement on him.

Of course, he’d assumed the object of his immediate, irrational affection would be a woman, but nothing in his life ever went according to plan.

He returned the smile, murmuring a greeting. And then they just looked at one another.

Sam might be a total girl, but Spike found himself recalling his words about looking into his potential suitors’ eyes. When he looked at Lindsey, he saw nothing to be afraid of. He saw an array of emotions, including a devotion that he didn’t yet understand but hoped he’d get the opportunity to. He saw all that, but nothing that scared him.

Wesley gave a somewhat inelegant snort of incredulity at their perplexing and ridiculous behavior, two seconds away from elbowing Spike in the ribs, and they both shook themselves a bit. Truthfully, they’d forgotten that anyone else was there.

Thinking that he ought to offer a compliment, and unable to think of anything adequate, Lindsey opted for the truth and hoped that the prince didn’t think he was the lamest person in the entire world. “Getting the invite for tonight was the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if this one minute is all I get and I don’t see you again? It’ll be my favorite memory.”

Jaw agape, Wesley turned to Spike to see the effect of the pathetic little speech, expecting at least a mocking eyebrow raise if not a full-on laugh. He was astonished – and exasperated – to see the enraptured expression on his brother’s face.

Since Spike seemed to be busy staring dreamily at the unwelcome newcomer – and, really, Wesley didn’t know why they’d had to invite _every_ purportedly respectable moron in the kingdom to the party – to respond, he signaled the majordomo.

“Yes, thank you,” butted in Wes with badly disguised derision. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to move along now. The prince must dance with the gentlemen he deems eligible.”

Wesley put a bit of emphasis on the word ‘eligible’, hoping that both the young intruder and Spike would get the point. After all, the king was hardly going to let Spike choose some long-haired kid, who probably didn’t have an ounce of truly noble blood in him and certainly didn’t seem qualified for nudging the prince toward the correct political agenda.

Lindsey reluctantly began to move away as he was politely but forcefully ushered, although he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Spike. Apparently realizing that Lindsey was about to be spirited off, Spike suddenly stepped forward and waved the long-suffering majordomo and his incredibly pissed off brother away.

“You’ll stay, won’t you?” he asked urgently, pitching his voice low and daring to reach out and clasp Lindsey’s hand. “I’ve got some official rubbish to do, but then it’ll be the dancing and I... Well. I’d like to dance with you.”

Lindsey looked surprised, but he gripped Spike’s hand tightly. His heart was pounding in his chest. “I’ll stay. Gotta warn you, though, I ain’t much of a dancer. Never learned.”

“Really?” beamed Spike, sounding delighted about it. “Good. I don’t have to worry about looking like a prat, then.”

Lindsey laughed, the sound sweet and melodious and causing all the flower buds in the kingdom to spontaneously erupt into bloom. Well, in Spike’s mind, anyway.

Spike could feel Wesley glowering darkly at him, and he didn’t want to draw any more attention than necessary from the crowd so he regretfully released Lindsey’s hand. “Don’t go far. You won’t like it if I have to send my guard after you; he’s about eight feet tall.”

“If he brings me back to you, I don’t think I’ll mind so much,” said Lindsey, cheeks a little pink as he realized that he was flirting with a prince.

Wesley thought he might barf.

Fortunately, at that point the boy finally noticed that he was making a frightful inconvenience of himself and pushed off, leaving Wes to give Spike a very pointed look.

“What? Oh stop it, Wes. You look like someone managed to wedge another stick up your arse.”

Wesley smiled coldly, irritated to see Spike suddenly so happy and animated. Still, that made it more fun to point out that, “Father’s not going to be too impressed to see you chatting up dumb, worthless little pretty boys. I’m not sure whether you just like him because he reminds you of a girl, but you’d better put any notions of getting to know him better right out of your head.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, this ball is in my honor. Or so everyone keeps telling me. So I can – and will – talk to and dance with anyone I bloody well want to.”

Wesley sighed and shook his head, although he couldn’t keep the almost fond smile from his face. “Do you really enjoy causing yourself as much trouble as possible?”

Spike shrugged, nodding at the majordomo, who’d been frantically trying to capture his attention. “Maybe I just like pissing you lot off.”

He threw a smirk at his brother and stalked off, following the majordomo to his next official duty. He knew that Wesley was right and that the ball was far too much of a sham for him to really pick the person he liked best, but that didn’t stop his heart from beating a little faster at the thought of Lindsey.

The consequences of the night be damned: all he could think of was having the gorgeous, mysterious man in his arms and finding out if that spark he’d felt was mutual. If he was going to be thrown to whatever wolf his father picked, then he might as well enjoy his last night of freedom.

*****

The ball was to open with a ceremonial dance. Spike had put up with stilted waltzes with elderly female relatives for all his life, so he was hardly thinking about it as he let the majordomo shoo him onto the dance floor.

But no-one was waiting for him but his father. Spike bit his lip and tried to look past him. “Where’s Aunt Gertrude?”

“You’re not marrying a duchess,” Giles spoke through a fixed, false smile. He took Spike’s hand roughly and tugged him forward. Spike was boneless with confusion as his father grabbed his waist and jerked him into position.

King Giles was far too close, then, and Spike struggled to turn his head somehow so he wasn’t breathing in his father’s breath. Giles’ hands where hard, fingertips digging in, and he was unyielding, taking long strides Spike could barely keep up with.

Spike felt like he was caught in a threshing machine until the music finally, mercifully slowed.

Giles pulled him closer than was proper and whispered, “Obviously, you need a strong hand to keep you even minimally in line. You can’t even dance.”

“I usually lead,” Spike replied, and his father drew him even closer, in a hard parody of a paternal hug, fingers digging knowingly into bruises before letting go.

“I suggest you don’t,” Giles said, stepping back. His smile was confident and triumphant, reminding Spike how little say he had in any of this.

*****

Angel made certain, via some well-placed elbow jabs and Caleb’s assistance, that he was at the front of the crowd of potential suitors when Spike finished dancing the first dance of the evening with the king. Spike all but fell into his arms.

“Hang on,” Angel told him, turning straight into a waltz, though the music hadn’t started yet. “I’ll get you out of the spotlight.”

Angel’s hand fit nicely against the prince’s slender waist, and Spike relaxed against him in relief. “Thanks.”

Gratitude. That was good. Angel would make sure the prince was always grateful. He glanced back at Caleb, still holding the competition back, and shared a triumphant smile.

Caleb looked a little jealous. Angel almost scowled, but that wouldn’t do. He turned his full attention on the prince, whose eyes were decorously downcast, a slight flush on his cheeks. Oh, this one was going to be delicious.

The music picked up, and Angel kept his steps close, easy, so the prince hardly had to move to keep up; it was a comfortable dance, a refuge. He could feel Spike resting against him, starting to trust him.

So he let his cheek brush the prince’s and asked, “Tell me, is it really so bad, being held by another man?”

Spike glanced up at him for the first time, and then turned away.

Angel brought their bodies a little closer. “You’re hurting my feelings.”

Spike gave him a wicked glance. Oh, some defiance to beat out of him! Angel was liking this more and more. And when his attempt to look contrite failed, Spike just smiled at him, like they were both in on a joke together.

“I dunno,” Spike said, letting his head rest against Angel’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s not so bad. With the right bloke.”

Angel grinned against Spike’s hair, not noticing that he was glancing across the room at another man, a man Angel would recognize right away if he wasn’t blinded by the impossibility of his being there.

Lindsey, however, instantly recognized his brother, and the fine-tailored suit he’d spent so many hours working on. It killed him, seeing the beautiful prince in his beastly brother’s hands, but he wasn’t sure what he could do, and moreover he feared what would happen if Angel or Caleb saw him there. Like a hare in a den of wolves, he was instantly, instinctively aware of his family, and where they were in the room. He kept moving, carefully in the back of the crowd, out of their sight. He couldn’t leave without being seen, and he didn’t want to leave, not without seeing Spike again. An hour ago he would have felt that just getting to see the prince from across the room would be enough to treasure for a lifetime. Then he actually got to speak to him! Now he felt he’d go mad if he didn’t get at least one more chance to stand next to him.

And Angel was swinging him around the dance-floor like he owned him.

Fear of being caught momentarily slipped from Lindsey’s mind as he found himself striding forward, angling to be the next in line for the dance.

He was almost to the front of the crowd when Darla appeared in front of him. He made an unmanly noise and froze in place. Fortunately, Darla didn’t even notice he was there. She was waving to Angel as the waltz wound down.

Lindsey ducked behind a pillar, his heart beating so loud he thought the musicians could hear it. But he still heard Darla hiss to Angel, “That was rude, holding him for two turns. You have to let the others think they have a chance.”

“You worry too much. These poor bastards will all be beneath us, once I marry the prince, and you’ve made sure of that.”

Lindsey’s fist shook with anger, clenched against his thigh. He had no doubt from the tone of Angel’s statement that Darla had managed some kind of swindle, and the prince wasn’t going to get to pick his future husband at all! Lindsey looked around the room, wondering who he should tell. A guard? The majordomo? The king?

He was turning in place, scanning the crowd, and noticed Caleb looking at him, eyes narrowed. Quickly, Lindsey hid behind his pillar again, heart racing.

Lindsey was certain of one thing – Lorne was crazy thinking that just getting him to the ball would solve anything.


	8. Chapter Seven

Spike felt like a tray of hors d’oeuvres, passed around from one grubby set of hands to another. He was supposed to dance once with each of the potential suitors, and whoever had that idea should be shot. He was sweating and tired, and the gentry of the kingdom apparently had more left feet than half a centipede. His toes were sore from being trod on. More than once he got in a ridiculous sort of stumbling slap-fight over who would lead.

When the master of ceremonies decreed a break in the dancing, he about kissed the man full on the lips.

Twelve glasses of punch immediately appeared, proffered by a variety of gents. He could only drink one glass of punch at a time and so he reached for the nearest and gave a shrug to the rest. It didn’t make any of the proffered arms go away. They were a well-dressed blur. Though he had picked out the ones he particularly DIDN’T want – the grabby ones, the ones with bad hygiene, the ones who looked even more uncomfortable than he did with the prospect of touching another bloke.

And then there was Lindsey. He was special. Spike tried to find him. He had sort of hoped he’d get a dance with him, at least, but he seemed to have vanished like a dream.

The majordomo was at his elbow. “His Majesty has arranged for you to meet a select few suitors privately in the garden. If you will follow me?”

“Just tell me it’s a sitting-down meeting,” Spike said, following the majordomo toward the glass doors at the back of the ballroom. “Sitting down with liquor.”

He was almost to the big windows, which reflected a mirror image of the ball back at him. He didn’t look exhausted and brutalized, much to his own surprise. Suddenly, a hand grabbed his elbow and pulled him behind a potted plant.

He was about to shout when he saw it was Lindsey. He smiled. “If you wanted a dance, pet…”

“Shh! They can’t see me. And look…you need to know. Angel and Darla, they have something planned. Angel is not a good man, Spike.”

Spike frowned. “What’s that?”

“Just promise me: anyone but Angel. He’ll hurt you, Your Highness. And I couldn’t bear that.”

Spike blinked at the earnest face before him. A warm feeling spread in his chest – this bloke wanted to protect him! And not just because it was his job. “I don’t suppose…”

The majordomo parted the leaves of the fern and looked crossly at them, clearing his throat.

Spike straightened, only just then realizing he’d been leaning toward Lindsey. “I don’t suppose Lindsey is one of the suitors I’m supposed to meet in the garden?”

“No, Sire,” the majordomo said, in that voice that was both polite and scolding. “And you are expected now.”

Spike impulsively grabbed Lindsey’s hand. “Meet me here in half an hour or so.”

Lindsey’s eyes were big and he nodded quickly as Spike reluctantly let go to be herded out into the garden.

As he stepped out into the quiet night air, Spike felt a sudden vulnerability. He looked back at the glowing windows of the ballroom, sure that no-one would notice if he was murdered out there. “Where’s my bodyguard?”

“You’ll not be needing him, Sire.”

Spike stopped in the path and scowled. “I asked where he bloody well was, Jeeves, not if I’d be needing him.”

The majordomo had not changed expressions in the past fifteen years and didn’t start now. “Sam Winchester is guarding the carriageway and has been since the dancing began. His Majesty’s private guards will be discreetly watching these meetings, Sire, should any suitor get out of hand.”

“I’d rather have my own man,” Spike said.

“Of course, Sire,” the majordomo said, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like “Wouldn’t we all” before he gestured forward and bowed. “I will make inquiries.”

Set just outside of the glow of the ballroom windows was a tea house with latticework all around it and crawling roses. The majordomo left Spike at its entrance.

Feeling unreasonably nervous, Spike stepped into the shadowy confines. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Angel said. He leaned against a support pillar, a single rose in his hand. Behind him a brazier stood between wooden benches, lighting the interior pleasantly.

Spike thought about how little of that light was visible outside – how hidden from sight they were.

Angel sauntered up to Spike, touching his suit lapel with the rose. “Alone at last.”

Spike side-stepped him, feeling suddenly anxious. “They about danced my feet right off,” he said, a little too brightly, and dropped into the middle of one of the benches.

“I don’t like it,” Angel said. He stepped between Spike and the fire, casting a looming shadow. “All those men touching you.”

Spike scooted into the light. “So we’ve established you’re a possessive prick.”

Angel’s hand rose, clenched, and slowly lowered to his side. He smiled a forced smile. Although the original plan had been to woo Spike, the kid must have done something to really upset his father, because the king had sidled up to Angel a few minutes previously, informed him that the job of keeping Spike in line was his, and that he could get started whenever he felt like it.

“Just so we’re clear, I am marrying you. Your father already agreed to it.” Angel sat next to Spike, leaning close. “So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t slut around before the wedding night.”

Spike had to slide off the end of the bench to avoid a descending kiss. “My dad doesn’t always keep his promises.”

Angel tilted his head to the side and looked up. “Well, I’ll just have to take what I can get now, then.”

Angel grabbed Spike and pinned him against a wooden pillar. His mouth was open, his hot breath on Spike’s face as he leaned down to take what he wanted.

Spike pushed him away and bolted from the tea house.

He was halfway back to the ballroom when he realized Angel wasn’t chasing. He stopped, gasping, holding his side against a stitch, and looked back. He could just make out a dark figure in the doorway to the ornamental house. He shivered and looked down, noticing that his coat was ripped.

Fuck. He’d hear it about that.

His hands were shaking. He smoothed the rip into a fold of fabric and tried to walk at a sedate pace back to the ballroom. He knew he hadn’t escaped, he’d only delayed. That was why Angel wasn’t bothering to chase him.

The ballroom was lit like a stage, clear in all its details through the tall and broad windows, and Spike saw Lindsey squinting blindly out into the garden, standing alone and dutiful by the plant they’d conferred behind. Spike moved faster, feeling at last he had a safe place to go to.

Lindsey came toward him as soon as he burst through the doors and Spike lost no time taking hold of him. “Dance with me,” Spike said.

Lindsey’s eyes widened and he breathed out a husky sigh. “Hell yes,” he said.

Spike glanced back once more to the doors to the garden. The darkness was solid behind them, belying the danger he’d just left. He hurried Lindsey toward the dance floor – the far side of the dance floor, near the front entrance of the hall. Lindsey didn’t seem to mind and they ran almost like fools, their hands gripping each other tight.

When they got as far as they could go and still be considered ‘on the dance floor’, Spike stopped and looked at Lindsey with a sudden shyness. “Well. Um…”

Fortunately Lindsey swung him into a natural dance, like they’d been dancing together all their lives, which was all the more impressive considering his assertion that he’d never learned how. “I never thought I’d get a chance to do this,” Lindsey said, ducking his head a little.

Spike’s hand lay against Lindsey’s arm, and he felt the gentle movement of muscle as they danced. It was all so perfectly natural. Lindsey had one hand on Spike’s waist, the other on his shoulder, leaving Spike to put his hands wherever he willed and making it seem like neither one of them was leading, in particular.

“You’re an amazing dancer,” Spike said, and then cleared his throat, because it sounded so corny. “After that first hour, armed guards couldn’t have tempted me back out here.”

“I bet.” Lindsey bit his lower lip, looking up at him, seeming somehow both innocent and sinful at once. “But I’d dance with all those jerks just for a chance to be with you.”

“Bloody hell. You sound like you actually mean that.”

“Of course I do!”

Spike shook his head a little. “You’re the first person I’ve met in a long time who isn’t pretending. Well, or mad.” They swung together with a swell of the music, pulling a little closer with the turn. “Why haven’t I ever seen you before?”

Lindsey licked his lips and rolled them in. “Look. I… I’m not usually at the palace. At all.”

“I can tell. You’re not corrupt.”

“No, that isn’t what I mean. I… hell, Spike. You gotta know, I’m not…”

An arm thrust between them. Angel’s arm. “Mind if I cut in?”

Spike stepped back, pulling his arms away from the man before he could grab them, but Angel smirked and turned his back on Spike, taking hold of Lindsey, who looked back at Spike with abject fear.

“Hello, brother,” Angel said. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Lindsey was terrified as Angel swung him away from Spike, forcefully maneuvering him across the floor and leaving the prince to get swept away by another wannabe suitor.

His only comfort was that Angel surely wouldn’t do anything to him in such a public place, particularly while he was trying to maintain his suave image.

“So, little brother,” began Angel with false cheer, hands squeezing tight enough to leave bruises, “Want to tell me what the fuck you’re doing here?”

Lindsey glared at him, using his indignation on the prince’s behalf to fuel his courage. “Hopefully stopping Spike from makin’ a huge mistake.”

“Oh, so it’s Spike now?” said Angel mockingly, raising his eyebrows. He deliberately stepped on Lindsey’s toe. Hard. “Didn’t realize you two were on first name terms.”

Lindsey hissed in a breath through his teeth, quickly glancing over his shoulder to try to verify whether Spike was okay, and also to search out any potential exit routes. He couldn’t see the prince, although he suspected that he was in the midst of a general throng that had appeared over the other side of the hall. This did however mean that there was a clear line of escape through the front door, what with everyone being preoccupied with ogling the prince.

If he could get away from Angel, of course.

“Jealous much?” he sneered, praying that he was correct in his assessment that Angel wouldn’t hurt him too much in the presence of others.

The bigger man barked out a derisive laugh. “Jealous of you? Right. After tonight, you’re going to spend the rest of your days in servitude, where you belong, assuming that you’re still capable of working by the time I’ve finished with you. And your beloved prince? He’s mine. His father’s already sealed the deal and tonight I’m gonna do to him exactly what I did to you. You remember all the fun we had, don’t you, Linds?”

Lindsey shuddered, fear filling him both at Angel’s threat and at the thought of what Spike was going to endure, if Angel was telling the truth. But surely the king would let the prince make his own choice, as had been reported in all the newspapers? And he’d never want his son hurt and debased, would he?

Lindsey recalled Wesley’s cold, calculating stare and thought about his own ‘family’. One thing he knew for sure was that just because someone was related to you, that didn’t necessarily mean that you could trust them.

“You can’t…” he breathed, aghast.

“Oh, I can. And I will. But there’s no rush; I still have time to deal with you first. There’s an empty tea house out there in those deserted grounds where no-one will hear you scream…”

Lindsey finally switched his energy from simply trying to ease away from Angel’s body to flat out twisting out of his grasp. Angel held fast.

“If you don’t want me to teach you a lesson right here, right now, you’d better run on home. And if you’ve got an ounce of self-preservation, you’re gonna pack your pathetic little bag and be gone before Mom and Caleb get back, because they’ll be just as mad with you as I am.”

Angel knew that scaring Lindsey into running away from home was a risk in terms of John, but he was more immediately concerned with getting the little shit away from Spike. Who knew when John would even put in an appearance again? But it was patently obvious that the prince had been enamored by Lindsey’s charms, and while the king would never let his son hook up with some pretty little boy who’d lived his life as a servant, it was better to remove him from the equation entirely. No sense in giving Spike any reason to act up.

It was really fucking infuriating, actually. Angel was well aware of how attractive Lindsey was, but he still couldn’t quite believe that the prince would pick Lindsey over him. Ridiculous.

In fact, Angel almost regretted the fact that he would shortly be having a private audience with Spike and therefore didn’t have time to do all the nasty things he wanted to do to Lindsey. Still, he’d soon get over his little disappointment once he was balls deep in royal ass.

When Angel abruptly released Lindsey, he stumbled back and almost fell. The threats scared him, but coupled with his worry about Spike and his panic about what he’d do and where he’d go if he left home, it was difficult to focus his thoughts. They kept flitting from one problem to the next like a flustered sparrow, and all he could think about was putting distance between himself and Angel.

He turned and fled, darting for the front door and trying to ignore the snide laughter that followed him from Angel.

He was almost into the entrance hall and on his way to freedom when a hand grabbed his arm and he gave a little cry.

“It’s just me,” said Spike, holding his hands up as Lindsey whirled around, fists rising. “Hey, what’s the matter? Where are you going?”

Everyone had been so astonished by how Spike had slipped behind a large pillar and dashed off that he’d gained a few seconds’ grace, but soon someone would be ushering him back toward his official duties. But he’d seen Lindsey tearing toward the exit and hadn’t been able to think of anything but stopping him.

“I’m real sorry, I gotta go. Angel… Listen. Like I said, he’s bad news. Do whatever you gotta do to make sure your dad doesn’t give him any power over you. Please.”

“Don’t go. Stay with me,” pleaded Spike, although he had no idea what that would achieve. He couldn’t stop his father doing anything; he and Lindsey couldn’t be together; they couldn’t be alone at a crowded ball. And Spike knew all that, he did, but he felt like he just couldn’t let go. He wanted whatever he could get, even if it was only five more minutes, and he didn’t even understand why. “Please just… don’t go.”

“I don’t want to,” said Lindsey earnestly, voice full of yearning. “I got no choice.” He cast a glance over Spike’s shoulder, seeing that several pissed-off-looking guards were being pointed in his direction by Angel. “Please.”

“I need to see you again,” whispered Spike. He didn’t know what he was going to do about Angel, or his family, but he knew that he couldn’t let Lindsey just disappear from his life.

Sighing bitterly, knowing that it couldn’t be so, Lindsey did the boldest thing he’d ever done in his life, acting before he’d thought it through. He knew that it would be his only chance, and he thought just maybe he could live with whatever challenges and horrors his new destitute life on the run would give him if he could just have this one thing…

Lindsey pulled Spike close to his body and kissed him. It was nothing more than a brief, firm press of lips, their hearts pounding against one another’s chests and their breath warming each other’s faces, but they could both swear that the earth had stopped spinning.

Far too soon, Lindsey pulled away, pressing one more sweet peck against Spike’s tingling lips and whispering, “That was my first kiss.”

And then he was gone, turning on his heels and running off into the night.

“Wait!” Spike called after him, but he didn’t respond. The prince was about to take off after him, but he was suddenly gripped from behind and he turned to face Gunn’s sympathetic, but firm, expression.

“Come on, Sire. People are waiting.”

Spike cast one more forlorn glance out of the double doors and into the night, fancying that he could see a flash of dark hair and blue silk, but sighed and nodded, his shoulders slumped.

There had to be some way to track Lindsey down. There just had to.

*****

“Dude, why the fuck are we guarding a _driveway_?” demanded Dean grumpily, crossing his arms and giving the peaceful scene a moody stare. “You should be with Spike. This isn’t right.”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, well. I don’t think the king’s all that bothered about protecting Spike and he’s the one who pays the bills, you know?”

Dean could see that Sam still felt bad about how very much they hadn’t improved the prince’s situation, so he didn’t press the issue. God knew he should just be grateful to be the hell away from Wesley for a while. “Hey.”

“What?”

“I know how we can stave off the boredom…” drawled Dean as he stepped closer to Sam, waggling his eyebrows slightly.

Sam grinned, shaking his head. “You’re terrible. We’re s’posed to be working.”

Nevertheless, he turned to his brother and rested a hand on his neck, checking over his shoulder that they were alone. Ever since Wes had forced them to ‘perform’, Dean had flinched a little every time they’d so much as accidentally brush together. Sam was just glad that he’d let go of the pain and shame enough to want to initiate something; it was nice to know that Wesley’s mind-fuck couldn’t touch them.

“Not my fault that they stuck me out here and you’re the best entertainment I’ve got,” argued Dean, leaning into Sam’s touch and sliding one leg between his, slotting their bodies together.

“Gee, thanks.” Given that his closest competition for Dean’s ‘entertainment’ was a rather attractive border shrubbery, it wasn’t much of a compliment. Still, he wasn’t going to complain, particularly as Dean’s hand slid around his back and down to cup his ass.

Checking once more that they were alone, knowing that it was too big a risk to take and finding it hard to care, Sam leaned down and pressed his lips against Dean’s, nipping gently at the plump flesh and sliding his tongue into his mouth.

Dean made a noise that was somewhere between surprised and turned on, pausing for a brief moment before returning the kiss with vigor, pulling Sam tight to his body and practically devouring his mouth.

They knew that they couldn’t risk going any further – what they were already doing was dangerous enough – but that didn’t prevent them from making out like teenagers. Dean herded Sam up against the wall, pressing against him from knee to chest, and fused their mouths together. Sam moaned and wrapped his arms around Dean, opening up to him and attempting to drag his body closer.

A couple of hot and heavy minutes later, when it was becoming more of a struggle to remember that they had to be careful, they were suddenly rudely interrupted by the frantic clattering of hooves, followed by a loud, angry shout from the chief groomsman.

They jumped apart, startled and guilty, as an ugly orange horse rattled down the driveway, huffing and puffing and evidently going as quickly as her stubby little legs could carry her. Presumably, the groomsman was only so upset because the rider hadn’t gone through the established protocol of giving his name and having his horse brought to him, because there was no way in hell that a thief would choose the old nag to steal.

The rider was a young man with longish hair, dressed for the ball but not looking overly comfortable in the formal attire. Even in the darkness, it was obvious that his face was drawn and pale, tight with worry and sadness.

“Should we stop him?” asked Sam.

“Why? He hasn’t got the prince tucked under his arm,” pointed out Dean, although he had to admit that his interest was piqued.

“Maybe he stole something else,” shrugged Sam, stepping out into the middle of the driveway.

The startled mare shied sideways and then skidded to a stop, evidently unsure what to do with the rather large human waving his arms at her. She gave an annoyed whinny and stamped her foot.

The kid dug his heels into her side and yanked her reins, trying to steer her around Sam and get her moving again. He cursed loudly as Sam snatched hold of the horse’s bridle and he was yanked off her back by Dean, who he hadn’t even seen approaching.

“Get off me! Let me go!” he demanded, wriggling in Dean’s grasp and trying to tear himself away.

“What’s your name? Why are you running?” barked Dean authoritatively.

“Fuck you,” snarled the boy, suddenly throwing an elbow back and almost surprising Dean enough to get free.

“Hey!” Dean tightened his hold, forcing the kid’s arms out of commission. “Calm down and answer the goddamned question.”

“Look, I didn’t do anything! I just need to leave before they come after me, okay?” he said desperately, almost pleading.

Sam and Dean shared a look.

“Before who comes after you?” asked Sam, staring intently at him.

“My step-broth…” He eyed them warily, obviously concerned about how much he should tell them. “Listen, it doesn’t matter. I get that I’m not s’posed to talk to the prince and stuff; I just wanted to warn him. And now I’m in big trouble, so I gotta get outta here, okay? Please?”

The abrupt switch to a begging tone was kind of pitiful and made Dean want to let the kid go. But his words indicated that something important had happened that he and Sam needed to know about.

“What were you trying to warn the prince about?”

He stared sullenly at his shoes, biting his lip.

“We’re the princes’ bodyguards,” explained Sam, his voice reasonable and kind and persuasive. “I look after Prince Spike, so I need to know about anything that might be a threat to him.”

“If you’re his bodyguard then why are you out here?” asked Lindsey sceptically.

“Yeah, that’s a good point, kid. We’ve been wondering the same thing,” muttered Dean.

Lindsey craned his head around to study him thoughtfully. “Wesley and the king want my stepbrother to marry Spike. He’s dangerous. That’s prob’ly why they don’t want you in there, lookin’ out for him.”

“Who’s your stepbrother?”

“Angel. He’s in there now. He says that the king’s arranged for him to meet privately with Spike later.”

“Fuck…” breathed Dean, looking helplessly at Sam. There wouldn’t be anything they could do.

“Please let me go. If I don’t clear outta the house before they get back…” His breath hitched and he closed his eyes a moment, trying to get himself under control. “I’m in pretty big trouble.”

“Dean, let him go,” said Sam. “Look, what’s your name?”

“Lindsey.”

“Okay, listen to me, Lindsey. We’re going to do what we can for the prince, okay? It was good of you to try to warn him, to risk so much.”

“I had to,” said Lindsey simply. “I’d do anything for him.”

The Winchesters looked at him with surprise, wondering what the hell they’d missed at the ball. One thing was obvious: they’d been kept out for a reason, and no-one other than this poor kid had been looking out for Spike.

“You got somewhere to go once you clear outta your place?” asked Dean. Lindsey looked so young.

He shook his head. “No, but it’s okay. My daddy taught me how to hunt and stuff.”

“And where’s he? Can he help you?”

Lindsey shrugged forlornly. “I don’t know. He… travels. He won’t be able to help.”

It was probably the first time he’d really admitted that he couldn’t rely on John for anything, and it hurt. Lindsey sighed, the weight of his troubles bearing down on him.

“Keep to the western woods, near the river. More game there and it’ll be easier to camp,” advised Sam. “You’d better go.”

Lindsey nodded, hopping nimbly up onto Pickup. He looked down at the guards, thinking how big and strong they seemed and hoping that they could find a way to help the prince. “Take care of Spike.”

“We’ll try,” said Sam honestly.

They both watched as he cantered off, sending gravel spraying around their feet.

Dean turned, shaking his head at the worrying turn of events, and spotted a glint of silver on the ground. He bent to examine it and then quickly turned, trying to see whether Lindsey was close enough to call back. He wasn’t.

“What is it?” asked Sam as Dean plucked the item off the ground and stood, facing the palace to try to catch some of the light blazing from all doors and windows.

“Bracelet. It’s…”

“What?” demanded Sam, concerned by the shell-shocked expression on Dean’s face.

Dean held up the bracelet, made up of a thick chain and silver fleur-de-lis. There was a small plate over the clasp, bearing one boldly engraved letter: _W_.

“Seem familiar to you?” he demanded.

“Oh my God,” breathed Sam, snatching the bracelet and turning it over in his hands.

They hadn’t had many belongings when they’d been brought to the palace after their family had died; they’d been told that almost everything had been consumed in the fire and they’d been too young to remember anything before that. But there had been a bracelet, bearing the initial of what they’d been told was their family name: W for Winchester.

An identical bracelet to the one that Lindsey had dropped.

*****

Spike was gently but firmly guided to the grand staircase. His father was already there and gave Spike a quick, disapproving scowl before his usual expression for formal speeches resumed.

As soon as Spike was in place beside him, he cleared his throat. This tiny sound caused an entire ballroom of activity to silence at once.

Giles smiled and stepped forward, spreading his arms magnanimously. “I would like to thank you all for coming tonight and for being a part of this very important night in my son’s life.”

There was a polite round of applause. Their hearts weren’t entirely in it. Spike could see the crowd eyeing him like the prize at a raffle, that mix of anxious hope and greed, with just a hint of the smug grin that came with knowing you are among the first to learn a juicy bit of gossip.

Giles nodded and waved down the meager noise like it had been a hearty ovation. “I hope you have all had a chance to get to know him and love him as I do. But of course, that is not what you are so eagerly waiting to hear. I am pleased to announce that Prince Spike has made his selection!”

“I bloody well haven’t!” Spike said, as loud as he dared, which was barely above a whisper. Still, it carried through the hall. A flutter of whispers and raised eyebrows expanded outward. The gossip-mongers’ grins grew even larger.

Lady Darla pushed herself to the front of the crowd and looked up at the king like he owed her something.

Giles held his hands up again. He didn’t even glance back at Spike. “However, to avoid a hasty decision, I have advised him to sleep on it. Please, join me in bidding the prince a good night.” He turned a paternal and friendly expression toward Spike and took his hand in a hard grip. For the thousandth time in his life, Spike was stunned at how well his father could act a part in public, looking every inch the loving father while his fingers dug cruelly into Spike’s palm.

“Good night, son. Think well on your decision.” He turned to the audience, still clasping Spike by the hand. “The final decision will be published in all the newspapers tomorrow morning.”

A crowd of guards closed around Spike and herded him up the stairs, their broad uniformed shoulders pressing against him forward and back. He glanced back and the last person he saw was Darla, her eyes following him up the stairs and a small, nasty smile on her face.

An important day in his life, indeed! He felt like his part could have been played by a statue.

He supposed the heavy security was to keep any potential suitors from throwing themselves at him at the last minute, or trying to follow him to bed. He didn’t mind, and didn’t think anything else of it, his mind on the pleasures of a night in his own bed.

But when he opened the door to his room, he saw Angel inside, flipping through the book Spike had left on his bedside table that morning. He closed the book and tossed it carelessly over his shoulder. “At last my love has arrived.”

Spike tried to turn to bolt, but the guards were holding him firm. “What is this? Let me go! Sam? Sam! Dean?” He searched through the strange faces while he struggled.

They chucked him into the room and shut the door behind him.


	9. Chapter Eight

Sam and Dean were distracted and absent-minded as they helped maintain order as the ball let out and several hundred guests spilled out into the carriageway, and not for the usual reasons.

“We have to find that kid.” Sam pulled Dean into the relative privacy of the gap between carriages waiting for owners.

“What do you suggest?” Dean shifted uneasily, keeping an eye on the traffic around them lest they get run over. “Even if we can figure out which of the million dandies they invited to this shindig he is, what then? He might not know a thing about that bracelet. He could have stolen it.”

“So we find out who he stole it from. Dean! Don’t you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” Dean shook his head, brows drawn tight. “What if this all leads somewhere we wish we hadn’t gone?”

Sam gave him a disbelieving look and the carriage in front of them lurched forward, sending them scrambling back to the side of the roadway.

“I don’t care what happens. I have to know, Dean.”

“Fine. We’re doing this. You can start by asking Spike tonight. The kid said he tried to warn him – maybe he remembers seeing him and can give us a name.”

“Good idea. Spike.” Sam looked back at the palace. “Think he’s all right?”

“No.” Dean followed Sam’s gaze. “But there’s nothing we can do about it. At least we know he’s safe at the moment. There’s way too many people still here for anyone to try anything.”

“There’s that,” Sam said, and Dean was grateful to hear the relief in his brother’s voice.

*****

As soon as the door slammed shut, Spike turned and pushed on it. They’d barred it, somehow.

Angel sounded amused as he spoke. “I know what you’re thinking – if I fuck you now, what will make the wedding night special?” His hands snaked around Spike’s torso. “Don’t worry, baby, it’ll always be special for me.”

Spike threw his elbow back, but Angel was ready for that. A swift spin and Spike was slammed against the wall next to the door, his arm pinned to his back. “I don’t mind a little struggle, baby, but you should know, your father, our king, has ordered that this happen. You wouldn’t want to commit treason, would you?”

Spike struggled, but Angel seemed to know his every move before he made it. Every turn he made just landed him back in Angel’s big, meaty hands.

“That’s it, baby, come to daddy.” Angel wrapped around him, peeling clothes back like he was shucking corn. Spike gasped as those big, cruel hands touched his bare flesh.

“You’re not my daddy, you sick bastard.”

“Aw, does that bother you? Would you rather this was him?” Angel’s fingers shoved their way down the back of Spike’s trousers, plunging between his ass cheeks. Spike twisted and struck at Angel. Fabric ripped and he half undressed himself trying to escape. Angel chuckled his approval and just fell on top of him, pinning him to the floor.

“No… Stop… Please, please stop.” Spike looked away, face hot, ashamed by his own begging.

Angel’s cheek rubbed against his. “Mmm. What will you give me, pretty boy, if I stop?”

“Money. Jewels. Whatever I have.”

“Tsk. I’m already getting that.” Angel ground his thick cock against Spike’s trapped body. “See, once I help your old man out by beating you down and fucking some obedience into you, he’s giving me everything.”

Spike went limp. “Then I have nothing to offer.”

“Oh, not at all!” Angel eased back. Still pinning Spike down with one hand on his shoulder, he gently lifted Spike’s chin with the other. “Here’s a bargain for you – do a few things for me, and I won’t fuck your pretty little ass. Tonight.”

Spike shivered a little, confused by the sudden gentleness. “W-what kind of things?”

“I want you to strip for me,” Angel traced down Spike’s chest, through rumpled, half-removed clothes, “and I want you to get me off.” Angel’s hand landed at his own groin and he cupped himself.

Spike’s mouth went dry and he swallowed. “But I…”

Angel’s temporarily friendly expression darkened. “Five seconds to agree, boyo, or I’m just taking what’s mine.” His hand moved proprietarily to Spike’s hip. “Five. Four.”

Spike shivered for real, now. “But what do you mean, ‘get you off’’? I can’t…”

“Two,” Angel said, leaning close.

“All right!”

Angel pushed, hard, off Spike’s body, and stood. “There, lad. Was that so hard? Don’t say your consort was never kind to you.” Angel walked to the bed. He took off his jacket and waistcoat and dropped them on the floor. Then he sat against the pillows, one still-booted foot on the coverlet, one hanging off the edge of the bed. He started unfastening his flies and paused, looking expectantly at Spike.

Spike crawled backward into a sitting position, his dignity, like his clothes, tattered. “But what do…”

“Stand up and take your clothes off, boy. What did you think ‘strip’ meant?”

Spike felt bloodless and cold, but somehow he got to his feet. He shrugged the rest of the way out of his jacket.

“Closer,” Angel said, fishing his cock out of his pants.

Spike tried not to look at Angel as he took the smallest, most hesitant steps toward the bed. His fingers fumbled helplessly with his shirt buttons.

“Closer,” Angel growled. “Do this right, boy, or the deal is off. I want you right here. Where I can see everything.”

Angel wasn’t satisfied until Spike was close enough that he could feel the man’s breath stirring the air. Angel was breathing hard as his hand worked his cock, clearly not caring a bit that he was abusing himself in front of an audience.

Spike didn’t feel like he counted as an audience, in Angel’s mind. His shirt buttons finally all undone, he let the garment fall. He planned to step out of his trousers quickly, but Angel stopped him with, “Go slow. Slower. That’s it.”

Spike was surprised there was any blood left in his body – all of it was surely in his face as he bent slowly over and inched his trousers down.

“Good,” Angel, long and low. “Gooood.”

Spike clenched a fist, wanting to smack him, wanting to say he could beat the man in a fair fight and not have to do this.

He stepped out of his pants. His hands covered his groin. He looked down at himself – skinny, mottled with bruises. Those, more than anything, made him feel exposed – his terrible secret on display. He trembled, and hated himself for it.

“Now,” said Angel, voice drunk with lust, “Come here.”

Spike took one shaky step closer and Angel grabbed his wrist. Angel’s hand was wet and hot, and Spike cringed, knowing it was because he’d just been jacking himself off. “Here, lad, it’s simple. Just put your pretty hand on my big fat cock.”

Spike was instantly relieved this was what Angel wanted. He’d imagined… worse. He let Angel guide his hand to his dick and tentatively took hold. When Angel’s hand dropped away, Spike started moving his fist up and down. It was weird, no, it was _wrong_ , to touch another man’s dick like this, but at least he sort of knew what he was doing. He’d done it to himself, anyway.

“Now suck it,” Angel said.

Spike’s hand froze in its motion.

Angel’s warm, wet hand cupped the back of Spike’s neck. “Don’t get coy, Your Highness. Put those pretty royal lips on your consort’s cock where they belong.”

Spike stiffened his spine. “I don’t…”

“So the deal’s over?”

Spike licked his lips. His eyes flicked to Angel’s, which were cruel and hard and depthless. Spike let Angel push him down. His lips brushed the tip of Angel’s dick, instantly picking up sticky fluid that made him want to turn away and wipe his mouth, but Angel held on tight.

“Open your mouth and suck. Are you completely stupid? A seven year old can figure this out. Heh. Trust me.”

Spike’s shivers were becoming full-on body-shakes, and Angel’s other hand was roaming his body, squeezing and pressing bruises, pushing him forward, onto Angel’s cock.

Spike forced his mouth to open around the head. Already saliva was building up and making a mess. He made embarrassing slurping noises.

“Oh yeaaaaah. You’re going to be so good at this, baby.” Angel’s hands came together on Spike’s head. It worried him as he did his inexpert best to lick and suck. It should have. Angel thrust hard and shoved Spike’s head down, fucking into his throat. Spike panicked, gagging and choking, but Angel just held him there. “Ride it out, baby. Shhh… That’s it… just relax. And swallow, damn it.” He pulled slightly out and back in. “Swallow!”

Spike was about to vomit, he was sure, but the command to swallow saved him, pushed the contents of his stomach back. Still, he couldn’t breathe. He tried to say so, to make Angel understand. Muffled hums and slurps were all he could manage, his hands slapping against Angel’s arms to try to get him to let go.

Angel’s response was just to push deeper and press Spike’s nose into his pubic hair. His hips thrust shallowly several times, while he held Spike in a vice-like grip and Spike became convinced he was about to be suffocated. He wanted to cry. His throat was raw, his nose running, his gorge rising and falling.

Slowly, Angel pulled halfway out and thrust back all the way in twice before letting go. Spike pulled off and held a hand over his mouth. Angel laughed.

“You’ll get used to it. Now, you haven’t finished, but I’ll give you a break. Lie down next to me.”

Spike gave Angel the most hateful glare he’d ever given anyone. Angel looked at him like he was an indulgent headmaster who had just been cussed at. Angel patted the bed beside him.

“Get your boots off the bedspread,” Spike said.

Angel laughed harder, and didn’t move his feet.

Prickly and cautious, Spike walked around to the far side of the bed and got onto it.

“On your stomach,” Angel clarified. “I want to see those pretty lash marks.”

Spike definitely didn’t want to do that. He lay down on his side instead, with his back toward Angel. Angel’s fingertips immediately traced down a welt. “Did the king do these himself? Or does he have a servant just for beating you?”

Spike scowled. “Himself.” He felt Angel’s fingernails breaking off a bit of scab as they scratched down his side. He wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of looking at him, or reacting.

Angel’s hand stopped on his hip and pressed forward, urging him onto his stomach. Spike resisted. Angel pulled up close behind him, still fully clothed, his breaches and shirtsleeves brushing over Spike’s bare flesh, but his cock, that was bare, and obvious and heavy as it nudged against Spike’s thigh. Spike scooted away from it.

Angel rolled on top of Spike, forcing him onto his stomach, his knees landing between Spike’s pushing them apart, his bare cock contrasting with the fabric of his trousers against Spike’s ass. “That was stupid, my boy, trusting me.”

Spike froze just a second. He pushed up against the bed with his hands, trying to get out from under Angel. Angel pushed his cock between Spike’s cheeks. Wet only with Spike’s own spit, it tore into his unprepared hole, setting his whole body on fire with pain.

Angel pushed his shoulders down into the mattress and forced his way fully inside. “Aaaah.” Angel closed his eyes a moment, enjoying the perfect, tight feel. There really was nothing like ripping into a ripe cherry ass. He squeezed the soft little cheeks on either side of his cock. “You trusted me. That’s okay,” He leaned down and kissed just behind Spike’s ear, wetly, “Lindsey trusted me, too.”

*****

Lindsey looped Pickup’s reigns loosely around the hitching post and ran in the kitchen door. He didn’t have much and he knew where to find it. He grabbed a sack from the pantry and stuffed in his clothes and what had been his good shoes, before the nicer ones Lorne had given him. He turned in a quick circle, checking that he hadn’t forgotten anything important. His hand went automatically to his wrist, to check for his mama’s bracelet.

It was gone.

He dropped the sack on the kitchen table and ran out into the yard, searching frantically between Pickup and the door. Kicking the dirt back and forth, he found no sign of the bracelet. He couldn’t leave without it. It was the only thing he owned that was special, for him; Lorne had said it was his mama’s. He hadn’t even had it one day! He searched around the chimney and the pantry.

Lindsey wasted precious seconds in indecision, caught between going up to Angel’s room to search – in case he’d lost it before even leaving for the ball, although he knew he hadn’t – or grabbing his stuff and going. Where else could it be? Did he have time? Was it more important to have the bracelet or live to come back for it some day?

He decided for the latter, and for a quick search through the vegetable beds. He shouldered his sack and pushed out the back door…

To see Caleb and Darla descending from their carriage. Darla had her dainty hand in Caleb’s, one foot on the step, and she glanced up and immediately spotted Lindsey. Her expression was instantly dark.

Lindsey jumped on Pickup so fast the old girl reared up like she hadn’t done in a decade. He dug his heels in and urged her around, quick, while Darla shouted and the coachman scrambled down from his box with his whip.

Lindsey was all over in a cold sweat, eyes intent on nothing but escape. Pickup kicked up dirt and gravel, cutting a tight turn and heading back to the main road.

Another horse blocked his way at the head of the drive, a big black stallion whose rider did not move aside, but moved to block the path as Lindsey hurtled forward.

“Get out of the way!” Lindsey called; he was fast getting too close to stop safely and he knew Pickup would never make a vault over the stone wall around the property. “Get out of the…” His voice faltered and he pulled back hard on Pickup’s reigns, causing her once again to rear back and whinny in protest.

John McDonald stood his ground, looking with an unreadable expression from his son to his wife, who had just run into view around the corner of the house.

The corner of John’s lip lifted a millimeter. “Well,” he said, “Everyone’s all dressed up to greet me.”

“Daddy!” gasped a surprised Lindsey, astonishment and an echo of childish joy almost making him forget all the trouble he was in.

John slid off Sierra, boots thumping on the ground, and walked slowly toward Pickup as he looked between Lindsey and his wife. Darla was just as stunning as ever, and very finely decorated, although she hadn’t gotten over her shock quite quickly enough to hide the whip she was carrying.

“What’s going on here?” asked John mildly, smiling a little as Lindsey threw himself off Pickup and practically into his arms. “Woah. Hey there, sunshine.”

“Daddy, I’m so glad you’re here,” murmured Lindsey, clinging to him and burying his head in his shoulder. Even though a part of him resented John for his absences and the suffering he’d endured, Lindsey had been desperately praying for his return for so long that he couldn’t help his reaction. It had been well over six months since his last visit, six months in which a bad situation had become intolerably worse, and Lindsey still had the vain, pitiful hope that his father would fix everything for him.

Darla suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be doing her loving wife part and rushed over with a large smile pasted on her face.

“Darling!” she cried, plastering herself to John’s side and throwing her arms around his neck so that Lindsey was obliged to let go. “We’ve missed you so!”

“I’ve missed you too,” replied John, kissing her smooth, white cheek. “I’m tired, ‘bout ready to fall down, so if we can go inside and someone can scare me up a cup of joe, I’d appreciate it. Then you can answer my question and tell me what’s going on.”

“Of course,” smiled Darla, taking his arm and leading him toward the house. “Lindsey, why don’t you be a dear and put the horses away, then come inside. Or would you like me to send Caleb to help?”

Her tone was sweet and pleasant in a way that she reserved for when John was around, and she didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at him, but Lindsey caught the threat in her words loud and clear.

“No, Ma’am. I’ll be right in.”

“Good boy,” she said indulgently, before reaching up to brush John’s hair away from his temple, murmuring in his ear and pressing her breasts up against his arm.

Lindsey grabbed the horses’ reins and trudged dejectedly toward the stables. He was so fucking screwed.

*****

Sam was so desperate for more information regarding the bracelet Lindsey had dropped that he didn’t think anything could distract him from his quest.

That was until he saw the king’s guards gathered outside Spike’s chambers, listening at the door, jostling each other and making crude jokes. Horrified, understanding flooding him, he hollered and sprinted for the door.

He tried to get past them but they managed to keep him back, despite sustaining several injuries, and fortunately for everyone Gunn turned up before it could get really nasty.

“Winchester, stand the fuck down,” he ordered tiredly. He outranked the bodyguard and the king had personally insisted that no-one was to enter Spike’s chambers, under any circumstances, until Angel had left.

“Let me go!” yelled Sam, elbowing the guard attempting to restrain him in the face. He squared up to Gunn. “My job is to protect the prince – and you and I both know that he needs me right now.”

“All I know is that he chose a consort and the king ordered they be allowed some alone time,” answered Gunn coolly.

“Bullshit!” fumed Sam. They were all making too much noise to really hear what was happening in the bedroom, but obviously a man who wanted some private time didn’t have to be forced behind a locked and guarded door. “You asshole. You’ve known the prince since he was practically a kid, and you’re just gonna stand there and let this happen? He’s getting raped!”

Gunn at least had the decency to flinch at that and look down, ashamed. But he didn’t back down.

“The king gives an order, you follow it,” he intoned, voice low and forestalling any argument. “Doing what you’re told is your job. So, unless you don’t want your job anymore…?”

Sam sighed in frustration as Gunn raised an eyebrow at him. God, it was all so fucking _wrong_. But, if he stormed out, who would look out for Spike then? Besides, the prince was the only one who might be able to give him the answers he sought.

“All right, fine,” he spat, gritting his teeth.

“Good,” nodded Gunn. “Now, take a walk. I’ll find you when the prince is alone again.”

Sam had no choice but to do as ordered.

He paced the halls for another couple of hours before Gunn appeared at the end of the corridor, giving him a brisk nod, and he practically ran back to Spike’s chambers.

He was apprehensive as he entered, but Spike was up and dressed – although that was about all that could be said to the positive.

Spike was trying to pull the sheets from his bed, as ineptly as one would expect from a guy who’d never changed his own linen in his life and who was moving with stiff, jerky movements, telegraphing his pain just as strongly as his anger.

Sam stepped closer, trying not to notice how the room stank of sex, and glanced at the sheets. There was blood on them.

“Sire…”

Spike yanked agitatedly at the corner of the sheet, not turning around. “Can’t even strip the bed properly. Bloody useless.”

When Sam got close, he got a surprisingly hard elbow to the ribs. He gasped and held out his hand. “Okay, I’m stepping back. Let me help.”

Spike didn’t protest and Sam stepped around to the opposite side of the bed, stealing glances at Spike’s face.

He’d been crying and his right eye had a puffy, tender look that Sam could tell from experience was going to blossom with color. He winced slightly, wondering what Spike’s haphazardly thrown-on garments were hiding.

“It’s just my face, really,” Spike said, as if reading Sam’s mind. As they quickly divested the bed of its soiled sheets, Sam doing the bulk of the work, he continued self-derisively. “I didn’t even fight him much. With the guards right outside and dad’s blessing, there didn’t seem much point.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but I shouldn’t have just let it happen. Even if I couldn’t win, I should have fought harder. He said as much – taunted me with it. Right before giving me a black eye as proof to Dad that he’s going to take his job of keeping me in line seriously.”

Sam didn’t know what to say to that. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do to help Spike, not if it was the king’s will that he be trapped and degraded. If he made too much fuss then this Angel character would soon see to it that he was kicked out on his ass.

Spike looked him in the eye for the first time, and his expression was hopeless and desolate, even though Sam could still detect the simmering anger and injustice. “He told me that Lindsey fought harder than I did – and that he hurt him more.”

“Lindsey?” asked Sam, a little too sharply.

Spike sighed. “I met him at the ball. He was… different. I could tell he wasn’t like the other pricks; he was sweet and genuine and I... Well. If the whole thing hadn’t been a massive sham, I’d have picked him in a heartbeat.” Seeing Sam’s surprised expression, Spike cleared his throat embarrassedly and pressed on; there was no point examining and psychoanalyzing his unexpected attraction to Lindsey. Not now. “He tried to warn me – about Angel, I mean. Now I know why. Because the sick bastard raped him too. His own stepbrother!”

Remembering abruptly that Sam and Dean were an item, Spike bit his lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“That’s okay,” shrugged Sam. “I know what you meant. And you’re right – I mean, it’s sick enough that Dean and I are together, but at least we chose it. Consented.” Trying to steer the conversation back in the direction he wanted without alienating Spike, he said, “Tell me about Lindsey. What does he look like?”

He was just about certain that the kid they’d stopped was the same one that Spike was referring to, but he had to check; after all, he could have given a fake name.

“Stocky, about my height, long hair. He’s nice-looking too, with these amazing blue eyes. And his voice is all smoky and…” He trailed off, blushing.

“My God… You… You’re attracted to him. But I thought…”

“Yeah, I know. Me too. And after tonight you’d think that I’d never want to be with another man as long as I bloody live. And yet…”

“Do you know where he lives? Had you met him before tonight?” Sam forced himself not to ask too many questions at once, although he wanted to shake the poor, traumatized prince and demand to know everything about Lindsey.

Spike shook his head as he stepped away from the stripped bed, kicking the discarded sheets with disgust. He gingerly sat in the padded chair, trying to hide his wince from Sam. “Never even seen him before. But he lives with Angel and that creepy brother of his – the priest. Their mum made some kind of deal with my father. Darla, her name is. Total slut.”

Sam nodded, filing the information away. If he got hold of the guest list, the first names should be enough of a clue for him to find the family – and their address. It was too risky to start asking questions about Angel around the palace.

“We saw Lindsey when he was leaving, you know.”

Spike sat up, wide-eyed. “Really? What happened?”

“Poor kid was running, that much was obvious. Scared too. But when he found out that I was your bodyguard, he asked me to take care of you. Seemed like he was even more smitten with you than you are with him…”

Spike smiled wistfully, eyes haunted. “I promised myself I’d find him. But how can I now? Even if I could go out and look, Angel would do something terrible to him if he found out. Christ, for all I know, Dad would order him exiled or something just out of spite.”

Sam thought Giles would probably do far worse than that, but tactfully didn’t say so. “Well… I could help. I could look for him, maybe give him a message?” offered Sam. He needed Spike’s permission to spend the kind of time away from the castle that it would take to locate and talk to the kid, particularly if he had headed off into the woods to escape Angel’s wrath. Sure, he felt like a tool for pretending that it was all for the prince’s benefit, but he couldn’t let that stop him. He had to know how Lindsey was linked to their family, and if he had any information about what had happened to their parents.

“You’d do that?”

“Of course.” Sam went and kneeled before Spike’s chair, feeling guiltier than ever. “Your dad’s made it so that there’s not much I can do to protect you. Some bodyguard I am. But at least I can do this for you.”

Spike smiled gratefully, making Sam feel even worse. “Thank you. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only friend I’ve got.”

*****

By the time Lindsey entered the house, Darla had managed to begin her thoroughly warped version of events, sitting on John’s lap while she did so.

“So you see, regrettable though it was and much as it pained me, I had to ground him. I told him that, until he proved that he could do his fair share of chores with good grace, then his fair share of privileges would be revoked.”

Lindsey narrowed his eyes at the spectacle and Darla had the gall to smirk at him over his father’s shoulder.

Fortunately, John was neither quite as gullible as Darla could wish for, nor particularly concerned with Lindsey’s apparent bad behavior. He was far more interested in why they were dressed the way they were and where Angel was.

“Why, the Royal Ball, of course.”

Even from most of the way across the room, Lindsey could see the way that John’s shoulders tensed.

“What?”

“Prince Spike wanted to choose a consort, so the king threw a ball in his honor, inviting all the eligible young men in the land.” Darla smiled triumphantly. “And guess who –”

“You went to a ball at the _palace_?!” questioned John with what sounded like shocked horror.

Darla frowned, wincing as her husband’s hands tightened on her waist. “Yes, of course. Why, whatever’s the matter?”

John’s head whipped around and his eyes searched out his son’s. “Did you go? Were you up at the royal residence?”

Lindsey swallowed guiltily, even though Darla had been lying and there’d been no reason that he shouldn’t have gone. “I was _invited_ ,” he said, unable to keep the whine out of his voice.

Darla squeaked as she was unceremoniously shoved off John’s lap and he rose to his feet, stalking toward his son.

“I asked you a question, boy,” he growled dangerously.

Confused by John’s reaction, Lindsey nevertheless responded instinctively to his tone. “Yes, Sir. I did go to the ball.”

He dropped his head, feeling helpless tears sting his eyes. Desperate to explain, he couldn’t prevent himself from babbling, “But, see, I was invited and there was this guy who helped me get an outfit, and I brushed Pickup all pretty, so I went and I only expected to see the prince from a distance but there was a greeting and danc–”

Lindsey cried out as his words were cut off by the back of John’s hard hand connecting with his face. Startled, he staggered and went down on one knee, cupping his cheek in shock.

“You’re never to go there!” shouted John. “You stay the hell away from that place, do you hear me?” He turned back to where Darla was gaping at him and Caleb was staring impassively. “That goes for all of you.”

“But... But Angel’s the Prince Consort!” protested Darla, unable to fathom John’s intense, explosive reaction. “We’ll all need to go there!”

“He’s what?”

“He’s going to be married to Prince Spike. Well, practically.”

John began to pace wildly as he thought it through. Angel hadn’t taken his last name, not that McDonald was his real last name anyway, so there were several degrees of separation. It probably didn’t matter that the prince – and, presumably, the king – had met Angel. But Lindsey on the other hand...

He reached down and grasped his son’s collar, unreasonably annoyed by the blue silk and what it represented: danger. “Did you speak to anyone?” he demanded, shaking him harshly. “Answer me!”

“Daddy!” choked out Lindsey, afraid and shocked. “Let me go!”

John gripped his chin in bruising fingers and tilted his face up so they were looking into one another’s eyes. “Answer the question, son.”

Lindsey’s eyes darted over to Darla before he whispered miserably, “The princes. And their guards.”

“Shit,” cursed John through gritted teeth, barely keeping his rage in check and trying to ignore the frantic pounding of his heart. He’d been so sure that Lindsey was safe!

Realizing that he didn’t want his wife overhearing his next conversation – he enjoyed her, even loved her, maybe, but didn’t really trust her – John yanked Lindsey to his feet and dragged him outside, ordering everyone else to stay behind. “We’ll be back.”

“Daddy, what’s going on?” asked Lindsey in a small, scared voice as he was manhandled toward the stable and then practically thrown against the wall. “I’m sorry that I disobeyed Darla!”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about that,” spat John – which Lindsey was rather surprised by and would have been grateful to know several years previously. “But you have to tell me everything you said to the princes and their men. It’s important, Lindsey. Vital.”

“Why?”

John snarled in frustration, cuffing him around the face again. “You really need me to beat it out of you?”

Lindsey shook his head quickly, unable to prevent the tears from finally spilling over. He’d prayed so hard for his daddy to come home – and he’d really thought he was saved when he’d seen him in the driveway. But now it looked like he was going to do Angel’s job for him.

John felt a pang as he saw Lindsey’s distress, but this was just too important to get soft. Life or death. “Kid, I need to know. Now.”

Lindsey quickly ran through the events of the evening, although he had to do some fairly heavy editing to gloss over the fact that he’d had to warn the poor prince that Angel was a rapist bastard.

Upon realizing that Lindsey hadn’t really had the opportunity to reveal much of his personal history, John relaxed slightly, although he was somewhat perturbed to read through the lines and understand that his son had a crush on the prince.

“And that’s everything that happened?” he pushed.

“Yeah. Well...” Lindsey trailed off, biting his lip nervously.

“What?”

“Well... the guy who helped me get ready for the ball gave me something. A bracelet, silver, with an ‘M’ on it. He said that it was Mama’s. And... I think I lost it. I’m real sorry! But don’t worry; it wouldn’t mean anything to – Ah!” Lindsey’s breath exploded from his body as he hit the ground hard, and he barely had time to understand what had happened before John was hauling him to his feet again and shaking him like a terrier with a rodent.

Too shocked to wonder who the hell this guy could have been and how he’d got hold of the item – which John hadn’t seen for well over a decade but recognized instantly from the description – he shouted, “You lost it! A connection with your mother! Something with our family name initialed?!”

“I’m sorry!” yelped Lindsey, who couldn’t understand for the life of him why it mattered. He could see that John was scared and anxious about them having any connection to the palace, but he had no idea why.

John’s mind was whirring furiously. It was problematic enough that his stepson might marry the prince, although he’d just have to avoid any royal functions and hope that it didn’t look strange enough to warrant investigation, but if the wrong person saw the bracelet... There were only a couple of people who might recognize it, but that was a couple too many given the immense risk it presented.

Unable to get past his frightened rage, knowing that he shouldn’t be taking it out on his son but unable to stop himself, John spent a couple of minutes knocking Lindsey around in a way that he’d never even contemplated doing before.

As he became aware of what he was doing, the pain he was inflicting on his much-loved (though little known) boy, he staggered away. Horrified, he ran a hand over his face and couldn’t bring himself to look at his bleeding son.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. His confused thoughts prompted him to offer some sort of explanation to the poor kid and he said haltingly and incoherently, “Before your mom, there was... I loved her, and our babies... but he took them and...”

Thinking better of it, he choked on his own words and turned, fleeing for the house with the intention of finding something to settle his nerves. Preferably a large bottle of whisky.

Lindsey, swiping at his tears and trying to figure out how things could have taken yet another turn for the worse, picked himself up and headed for the door. He didn’t know what his dad had been talking about, but he was pretty sure it just added up to more heartache.

He didn’t even bother retrieving his pathetic duffle of belongings before escaping to the woods.


	10. Chapter Nine

Light from the fireplace danced on the rich red wine in King Giles’ glass as he looked over the rim at Angel. His smile, Angel hoped, was approving. “I trust everything went well?”

“Better than.” Angel shifted his shoulders against the butter-soft leather of the very expensive couch. “I think he won’t even fight me, next time.”

Something dark passed over Giles’ expression, chilling what had been a warm conversation. Giles sipped his wine like it was bitter. Angel cleared his throat and tried to figure out how he’d sabotaged himself. “You have a strong son, really strong. He could have fought me off all night.” Giles looked somewhat doubtful. “I tricked him. And the beauty of it is, he blames himself for having been tricked.”

That got him a small measure of the approving smile back. “I’ve tried everything I could, to make Spike a stronger man. You can see how…” A soft knock interrupted the king. He straightened in his seat and gave a small nod to the ever-present and invisible guard. “Well, never mind. We are here to celebrate the future.” Giles stood. “Ah, Wesley, so good of you to join us.”

Angel hurried to stand as well and found himself being scrutinized by the younger prince – like he was a meal the prince had ordered. Angel carefully bowed just a little less deeply than he had to the king. “Your Highness.”

Wesley smirked and extended his hand. “I can tell we’re going to be the best of friends.”

Angel looked warily at the extended hand. One didn’t just shake hands with royalty. But King Giles looked calm and so Angel extended his own hand, leaving it to Wesley to close the gap and give him a firm shake.

Wesley’s finger trailed down Angel’s wrist as he let go, a subtle motion that managed to set every hair on his arm upright. Judging from Wesley’s smug smile, he knew his success.

Angel coughed and took a quick step back. “Your brother will be in good hands.”

“I wouldn’t doubt for a second.” Wesley and Giles shared a smirk before Wesley turned back to Angel and continued, “Your role will be easy enough for the time being, but, rest assured, it will get more vital over time. When the king is not available, I will provide you guidance.”

“Guidance,” Angel repeated, tasting a euphemism. He smiled. “Thank you.”

A polite knock interrupted a variety of knowing looks. Gunn ducked into the room. “Sire, it’s past dawn. The Chamberlain is due to arrive in an hour.”

Giles raised his brows. “My goodness, we’ve lasted the night. Get me some good strong coffee, Gunn, and have the daily reports brought with my breakfast.”

One moment, Angel was a member of the inner circle, the next he was being dispassionately shown the door.

Still, he was tired, and when he looked back, he caught a heated glance from Wesley that promised him more rewards than just the sweet princely that ass awaited him.

*****

As Giles savored his first sip of coffee, Gunn ducked his head close. “There is one more thing, Sire.”

Giles raised a brow. “I’ve not had my coffee, guardsman.”

Gunn nodded. “I just thought you should know, Sam Winchester showed great loyalty to his charge last night.”

Giles blinked slowly. Gunn felt a dryness in his throat. “I’m aware that didn’t accord with your plans, Sire, but he was loyal, all the same, and accepted the situation gracefully.”

“I bet he did,” Giles let his gaze travel down Gunn’s body in a way he had a habit of doing when they were alone. “And what about his beautiful brother, Dean?”

“He was guarding the entryway, as you requested, Your Majesty.”

Giles set his hand on Gunn’s hip and drew the guard closer. “I want you to keep an eye on those two. Loyalty to my son is not loyalty to me, do you understand?”

With a resigned expression, Gunn let himself be guided between the king and his breakfast table. “Perfectly,” he said.

*****

It seemed like no-one in the castle had slept a wink that night, which was good because no-one noticed how distracted and bleary-eyed Dean was. They had a possible lead on their lost family, damn it, and Sam had been broken up about Spike and his inability to protect him. Dean knew a thing or two about that feeling, so he and Sam had coped the only way they knew how, with a hard, passionate fuck and half a bottle of booze, not necessarily in that order. Then they crafted a plan. They didn’t have much time they could get away, but if Wes could be persuaded into one of his dalliances, Dean could slip out – and Spike was already on their side and had given Sam some fake mission to get him officially out of the palace for the day.

Now, if Wes would just not be a total bitch for once.

Dean entered Wesley’s chambers to find him already awake and getting dressed. Wesley gave him a scowl to let him know he should have been there earlier.

Dean took his post by the door, looking vaguely past everything while Wesley reprimanded his body servant over an inappropriate choice of cuffs.

Yeah, the odds were never good that Wes wouldn’t be a bitch.

Finally satisfied with his look, Wesley waved the valet away and marched to the door. Dean stepped back, prepared to follow, but as he passed, Wesley said, “I won’t need you today.”

Dean knew he should run with it, but he couldn’t help asking, “Sire? What about…”

Wes spun on his heel and got right into Dean’s face. “Find your idiot brother and keep him out of my way. That is all I require of you until supper. Now go.”

Dean wisely held off his fist-pump until Wes was out the door.

*****

Spike wished he hadn’t sent Sam away. Even in his own room, he felt exposed and vulnerable. He dismissed the valet and dressed himself. He didn’t meet the maid’s eyes when she came in and found the bedding already stripped.

He was going to refuse his breakfast, but when the tray arrived, the savory smell awakened his hunger, which was more resilient than expected.

He sighed as he ate, grateful at least for some form of comfort.

The door opened and Wesley came in, alone and smiling.

Spike set down his fork. “Bugger off, Wes.”

“Appropriate wording,” Wesley said. He pulled a chair up uncomfortably close to Spike and dropped into it. “Is that a ham steak? Cut me a piece.”

“Just because you’re my brother doesn’t mean I’m not going to haul off and punch you if you don’t leave me the hell alone.”

Wesley dragged Spike’s plate and cutlery closer to himself. “Please. Your threats would be more believable if you didn’t look like a punching bag. I’m well aware you’ve been properly beaten down. I hope you realize that now you’re no longer a virgin, I can do whatever I like with you.” Wes bit into the ham with a delighted smile.

Spike punched his brother so hard in the face that he tumbled backwards out of his chair. He stood over him, the table askew and the dish broken on the floor, unsure how he’d gotten there, just shaking with rage. “Get out.”

Wes touched his bleeding lip. “Well, I see Angel has work to do yet.”

Spike grabbed Wesley’s shirt-front and punched him again.

“Guards!” Wes shouted.

The room filled quickly. Spike was pulled away from his brother and held. He panicked a moment, but then laughed. “So you can’t take me on, can you?” He sneered at his brother as the younger prince got to his feet.

Wesley dabbed at his nose with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “I don’t have to,” he said, and turned and left without looking back.

*****

Sam and Dean reined in their horses at a secluded crossroads. “Okay,” Sam said, nodding to the left over the head of his horse, Charger. “I’ll follow the creek into the woods where we told Lindsey to hide. You follow this road another mile, take the first left, and the first house you come to should be the residence of one Lindsey McDonald and family.”

Dean gave Impala a fond pat. “This is turning out great. We’ll meet back here in, what, three hours?”

“You’re just asking a few questions – it might take me all day to find the kid.”

“Fine, we’ll meet at dusk. You whiny girl.”

Sam rolled his eyes. His brother was grinning a mile wide, happy to be out riding on a misty but warm morning.

“See you at sunset,” Sam said, and spurred his horse forward.

*****

Hitting his brother had felt so good, so right – and so necessary. But Spike regretted it as he stood in his father’s study, a guard on either side of him.

He didn’t regret standing up for himself, but he would do anything not to have his father looking at him the way Giles was looking at him now – like he was already beating him.

“So you’re fighting now. A little late.”

“Wesley started it.”

Giles jumped up. “Are you twelve? Do you really expect me to accept that sort of an answer?”

Spike hated himself for flinching. He straightened as well as he could, straining against the hands that held him. “Do you really expect me not to defend myself?”

Giles came out from behind his desk. A slow smile grew on his face. “Yes, son, that is what I expect, from my experience. Undress him.”

There was a brief pause, as even the guards questioned their hearing. Giles didn’t have to do anything other than glare, however, for that to end. Spike struggled against the guards. They pushed him to the floor to aid them in pulling his clothes off.

Spike twisted, gasping, cold sweat drenching him as he fought with panicked strength.

Giles shook his head as fabric tore. “You’ll not be getting new clothes, my boy, if you can’t keep yours from being damaged.”

Spike squeezed his eyes shut, panting hard against the marble floor as the last of his clothes were torn from him. He felt his father’s shadow – a cold swath across the small of his back.

“There now. Was that so difficult? Let him up.”

The guards released him all at once, stepping back quickly, their hands out should he make a sudden move. Spike shivered and curled up to hide his privates.

Giles rolled his eyes. “You’re embarrassing me. Stand up like a man.”

Spike’s joints were all frozen with fear, but he managed to unfold himself and stand, stooped, his hands over his groin. “Why are you doing this?”

Giles picked up his chin and studied his face. “You will be punished for fighting your brother. But first, I want to inspect your body and see that Angel did as instructed.”

Spike flinched backward. His father’s fingernail left a small cut on his chin. Giles lowered his voice and his gaze challengingly. “You will come here and bend over my knee.”

“No.” Spike backed into a solid wall of guards. “It’s not right.”

“When you are king, perhaps you’ll get to say what is right and what is not. You are not. I am.” Giles drew a chair out from the group around the fireplace and sat down. “Now come here, or I will make you regret your insubordination in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Spike hung back against the uniform behind him and looked for escape routes.

A hand rested on his arm. Gunn’s voice was soft behind him. “We’re here. Just do what he says.”

Spike wasn’t sure how reassured he felt, but a gentle push forward sent him walking, stiff-limbed, to his waiting father.

It was humiliating, at his age, bending over his father’s knee to receive a spanking. He felt tears already pricking his eyelids and struggled to hold them back.

Giles’ hands were cool and dry, passing over his sides and back, then gripping hard, pushing him down into position. “There we are.” Giles rubbed over Spike’s ass, pinching a bruise near the hip. “Let’s see, shall we?” He grabbed Spike’s wrist and wrenched his hand out from under him (he still hoped to cover his dick from swinging against his father’s pant-leg in full view of the guards). Giles put Spike’s hand on his ass-cheek. “Hold them apart,” he said.

Spike felt blood pool in his face so fast his vision darkened at the edges. Giles smacked him and forced his other hand up and into place.

Spike’s weight was now nearly all on his father’s knee and he shook all over. Giles didn’t wait for him to comply with the order before sticking his forefinger inside him.

Spike cried out and half lifted off his father’s lap. Giles pushed him down and rammed his finger in again. “If you won’t let me see it, I have to feel it, don’t I?”

Unable to stop himself from sobbing, Spike tried to comply and pulled on his ass-cheeks to open them, but Giles didn’t stop prodding his sore, torn flesh.

“Damaged, I see. You’re lucky Angel still wants you.”

Spike gave in. He fell loose across his father’s lap, sobbing his guts out.

“What’s that? Do you feel worthless? Ashamed? You should. Look at you – crying like an infant. You’re hardly a man, much less a prince.” Giles withdrew his finger at last and smacked Spike’s ass hard, startling him back to awareness. “Answer me. Are you worthless?” He grabbed Spike by the hair and pulled his head up, shaking him. “Are you?”

Spike howled. “Yes. Goddamn you. Yes. Let me go!” Spike grabbed hold of his father’s hand and tried to get up off his lap.

A guard quickly came to the king’s aid, unobtrusively holding Spike in place.

Giles let go of Spike’s hair. His hand went back to his ass, rubbing gently. “Good. Good. Now then, we can start your punishment for striking your brother.”

“No… wait…”

Two guards quietly closed the doors to the antechambers, knowing that the noise was about to get worse.

*****

Dean wasn’t entirely sure what – or who – he was expecting as he rode toward the well-kept, secluded house, surrounded by tall hedges indicating that the owners liked their privacy.

He was almost sure that Lindsey wouldn’t be there; he’d had plenty of time to escape while Angel was at the palace, abusing the heir to the throne. The notion set Dean’s teeth grinding, but he tried to tamp down the emotions because he wasn’t altogether sure whether the asshole was still back at the royal residence or whether Dean could expect to encounter him here on his own turf.

Other than Angel, Sam had given a garbled account from Prince Spike of a creepy priest brother and a slutty mother, so Dean was wary to say the least.

So when he left Impala tethered to a tree on the outskirts of the property and crept stealthily for a closer look, he was immensely surprised to find himself at the end of a large gun, wielded by a stern – and very attractive – older man.

The guy was tall, with dark hair and the scruff of a beard, both beginning to gray, and large eyes that could probably appear sleepy under very different circumstances. As it was, with both barrels pointing nonchalantly at Dean and a calm, deadly expression, he looked about as sleepy as a pissed off rattlesnake.

“What do you think you’re doing on my property?” rumbled the man, raising his eyebrow as Dean held up his hands in a placating gesture.

The threat was evident in his posture and tone, and Dean really wished that he didn’t find it quite so hot. But he’d always been wired a little wrong – in more ways than one.

“Your property? You must be Lindsey’s father,” said Dean, eyes flicking down to the weapon and then back to the man’s face, assuming that the guy had to be the absent daddy that the kid had spoken of. He hoped that he’d earn himself a bit of quick trust by mentioning the man’s son.

“Who the fuck are you?” demanded the guy sharply, cocking the gun.

A vain hope, apparently.

“Woah, hold on there! Listen, I’m Prince Wesley’s bodyguard.” Seeing that the dude didn’t look overly appeased by that piece of information, Dean rushed to explain. “But he’s a bit of a douchebag, so I’m trying to help out Prince Spike. And, well, not to beat around the bush or anything, but the prince is looking for your son.”

“Why?” snapped John suspiciously, scrutinizing Dean.

“I don’t know,” sighed Dean with exasperation. “Their eyes met across the crowded ballroom or something. You know what these young, star-crossed lovers are like.”

“Not really,” replied the other man wryly.

Dean realized that the guy probably didn’t know that his boy was a fag. And not just that, but one of those sappy, romantic kinds as well. Unlike his own considerably more manly (and illegal) brand of faggotry.

“I’m Dean,” he said hastily, pretty much unable to tell whether anything he said was making the situation better or worse. All he knew for sure was that his heart was beating fast with anxiety and adrenaline, and the penetrating, smoldering appraisal he was receiving was causing a bit of a stir south of the border. Trust him to get turned on by having a lethal weapon leveled at him. “I’m just looking for Lindsey, to let him know that the prince wants to see him, that’s all. I was sneaking around –”

“Was that what that was?” smirked the man.

Dean glared slightly before continuing. “I was sneaking around because I didn’t know if your stepson was here – and since the king’s promised the prince to him (unwillingly), then he probably wouldn’t be too happy to know that Spike’s trying to track down Lindsey. He’s a great big bag of dicks, by the way.”

“Angel? Yeah, I know.”

“The king too. And Prince Wesley, while we’re at it.”

The man smiled and Dean relaxed fractionally, marginally hopeful that he was neither going to get shot nor turned in for treason. He also couldn’t help but notice that the guy’s grin was sexy as all get-out.

“I’m John,” he introduced himself, thumbing the gun hammers back to a safe position on and lowering it. “And Lindsey’s...” His smile faded and he swallowed, eyes sliding away. “Not here.”

Dean could tell from John’s evasive words and expression that something had happened with the kid; maybe they’d had a fight.

“He okay?”

John gave him a dark look, not quite a scowl. “I’m sure he’s fine. He just didn’t take a punishment well, that’s all.”

His tone was dismissive and Dean took the hint. He felt bad for Lindsey though, remembering how upset and scared the boy had been the previous night. Looked like he’d had more to contend with once he finally made it home.

Since this new information indicated that Lindsey wasn’t on the best of terms with his father, Dean decided that any questions about the bracelet wouldn’t be prudent. After all, he and Sam still thought it was a distinct possibility that the kid had stolen the item from someone else, and they definitely didn’t want to get him into more trouble.

John glanced over his shoulder, surveying the driveway and stables. As far as Dean could tell, they were the only people home.

“So...” he said eventually, scratching his hand lightly over the nape of his neck and meeting Dean’s eyes under a thick fringe of lashes. “You want a drink before you head back?”

*****

Angel smiled smugly at his mother and brother, whom he’d taken to a tea house in town where they could get a private room once he’d realized that John was home. He looked very much like the cat who’d not only got the canary, but debauched it thoroughly and then had a congratulatory drink with its dad.

“This is all working out marvelously!” beamed Darla, privately self-satisfied because she was sure it had all stemmed from her... conversation with the king. “So you spoke with Prince Wesley as well?”

“Yeah. He’s as keen as the king to keep Spike in line; it’s obvious he wants the crown. All I gotta do is stay on the right side of him.”

“This is going to be the making of us, my darling boy. Before long we’ll all be residing in luxury,” smiled Darla as she sipped delicately at her tea.

“Sure are,” agreed Angel. “You can live at the palace or somewhere sumptuous in the citadel surrounded by servants, and Caleb can tend the richest and most influential flock in the land. Hell, he’ll probably end up as the Archbishop!”

Caleb grinned, shaking his head although he didn’t rain on his brother’s parade. He wanted his congregation somewhere nice and secluded and where no-one was going to ask any questions if their children suddenly became one hell of a lot more God-fearing. Although the power Angel might be in a position to grant would certainly come in handy.

“What about John?” Angel asked his mother, brow slightly furrowed. He hadn’t expected his stepfather to come home while they were right in the middle of all this delicate business. Still, at least Lindsey hadn’t tried to tell any tales; in fact, from what Darla had said, it had actually been John who’d run him off the property! Either way, the kid was out of the picture and that was all that mattered. Although Angel would feel a little more sanguine if John would pull one of his famous disappearing acts as well.

Darla waved her hand dismissively. “He’s not going to cause any trouble. Besides, once we’re assured of our place in the palace, I’ll leave him. He’s served his purpose.”

When her third husband had suffered an unfortunate accident (for which she had an airtight alibi, thank you very much), she’d been shocked and dismayed to discover that his estate barely covered his gambling debts and she was destitute. Fortunately, after a little persuasion and a lot of rot about being a mother to his son, John had provided her with a home, plenty of money, and (unwittingly) a slave whenever he was absent. If not for the social status he’d afforded her as a well-repute – although elusive – land-owner, her sons might not have been invited to the royal ball at all!

So, she did feel that she owed him something. Which was why she was going to settle for her first divorce, rather than her fourth stint in widow’s weeds.

As long as he didn’t make any trouble, of course.

*****

John surveyed the young man sitting kitty-corner to him at the kitchen table and sipping at a beer.

His heart had almost pounded right out of his chest when he’d realized that someone was snooping around his property; hell, he’d almost shot the damned guy just to be on the safe side.

However, it seemed as though Dean had no interest in John or his past. Of course, John would have to worry later about the fact that his son and the prince evidently had some starry-eyed crush on one another, but for now he was simply relieved.

He’d offered the drink really as a distraction. Although, now that he had the guard sitting close to him and his first anxious fears had calmed, he couldn’t help but notice that he wouldn’t mind finding a few other sources of distraction.

John had always been a ladies’ man, but his vendetta – his quest – had hardened all of his edges and changed him in unexpected ways. He was alone much of the time, often isolated from society for weeks on end until he stumbled upon some other bitter, dangerous traveler with whom he formed a temporary alliance to share information and food. And maybe a few other things that helped stave off the chill at night.

As he got older and spent an increasing number of years killing other people’s demons but getting no closer to finding his own, he found that he was becoming rougher and colder. He couldn’t even connect with his son anymore (perhaps partially over his guilt at not finding his mother’s killer), and even Darla’s admittedly extensive talents failed to satisfy every desire he harbored.

Sometimes he wanted to be forceful and indifferent in that way women wouldn’t forgive you for, but men were usually relieved by.

And hell but Dean was one good-looking man. His features were fine, even pretty, but John could tell from the look in his eyes and the scars on his hands that he was tough – and jaded in some undetermined way. Perhaps it related to his employers, since it was evident that he wasn’t a fan of either the king or his youngest son.

Well, John was right with him on that score. Any enemy of the king’s was a friend of his for life.

So yeah, the kid was hot, and definitely his type. Plus, if the eyefuck he was shooting over was a reliable indication, he’d roll right over for anything John had in mind.

He was remarkably similar to the younger hunters John had encountered, actually. Young men who’d lost a lot and had to fight tooth and nail for everything often ended up throwing their bodies around. Of course, they generally thought that they were liberal, rather than searching for approval, but John had always been one for keeping his amateur psychology to himself.

“So,” he asked, voice low and warm as his eyes found Dean’s and then flickered down to his mouth, “Are you on a lone manhunt for my boy? Or can I be expecting more guards traipsing around in the near future?”

“Ah, no. sorry about that.” Dean at least had the decency to look slightly sheepish, although that was more because he was embarrassed that he’d been spotted so easily. “My brother’s looking for him too – he’s Prince Spike’s guard – but he’s taking the western woods.”

“Why there?” asked John. He knew that he needed to go out and find Lindsey himself and had been trying to decide where the boy would be most likely to go. If the guards would do his job for him, then so much the better.

“Because…” Dean clamped his mouth shut, thinking. He and Sam had suggested Lindsey go there to escape Angel, but he couldn’t tell John that. Even if the man wasn’t a great fan of his stepson, as it seemed, that didn’t mean he’d be pleased to hear that Lindsey was so afraid of him that he’d decided to run away from home. He might think the kid was overreacting and lay into him. He might believe it and confront Angel. Either way, Dean didn’t want to be responsible for any drama; if it got back to the king that he and Sam had been interfering in anything to do with Spike and Angel’s business, there’d be hell to pay.

“Yeah?” prompted John, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, we just figured it was the most likely place for him to camp out,” explained Dean somewhat lamely.

John didn’t push. He didn’t really care how or why the guards had an idea where Lindsey was; the end result – that his son would be returned to him sooner rather than later – was all that mattered.

“What about the rest of your family – your wife and stepsons. Are you expecting them back?” asked Dean, partly to change the subject and partly to ascertain whether there might be a chance of some uninterrupted alone time for John to cash the checks his lustful eyes were writing.

He and Sam had never been exclusive; the simple fact of the matter was that they couldn’t afford to be. For two young, healthy men not to indulge in any of the attention being constantly thrown their way by staff, residents and visitors to the palace (it was amazing how many upper class folks liked a bit of rough) would have been highly suspicious. So they’d always screwed other people, with the firm understanding that the incidents were only ever to be meaningless and short-lived.

Fortunately, meaningless and short-lived was Dean’s very favorite kind of screwing. Apart from with Sam, of course.

Dean was intensely jealous of Sam sleeping with other people, because he was convinced that no-one could help falling in love with his gorgeous and nauseatingly sweet brother, and continually afraid that someone might try to steal him away. He buried his head in the sand about the men and women that Sammy ‘knew’.

But Sam... Sam was jealous too, but it took an entirely different form. He’d insist that Dean describe in graphic detail the things he and his partners had done, particularly the men, while he fucked him so hard and thoroughly that Dean’s mind and his body were completely consumed with _SamSamSammy_.

Dean only mentioned the ones Sam already knew about.

“They’ll be gone hours,” said John meaningfully, eyes full of promise and a playful kind of challenge.

Dean sure as fuck wouldn’t be mentioning John to his brother. For a start, they weren’t at the palace so he didn’t have the whole ‘allaying suspicions’ defense. More importantly, he didn’t want Sam to know about his penchant – almost a fetish, really – for older men, especially the kind who were hard and seasoned fighters. The ones who he let control him utterly.

Sam would only insist on rattling off some psychobabble about absent-daddy issues, and Dean was already fully aware of – and happily ignoring – all of that, thank you very much.

Dean didn’t do subtle, and he had no use for a slow, flirty build-up either. With a sexy smirk, he rose from his chair and stepped close to John, leaning his ass against the kitchen table and spreading his legs a little when he repositioned his weight. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his pants, allowing his hands to frame his groin, he hummed. “Well, now... What will we do to pass the time...?”

John laughed, a deep, rich sound that warmed Dean’s belly and reverberated around his body.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?”

Dean shrugged and shook his head. “Don’t know about you, _Sir_ , but I don’t really see the point.”

John rose to his feet, so close to Dean that they were a whisper from touching all the way from knee to chest. He was a little taller than Dean and he used that to his advantage, leaning over him. “Sir, huh? I like that – a bit of obedience.”

“What a shocker.”

John smiled, the expression feral and dangerous, as his hand suddenly shot out and wrapped around Dean’s throat. “Careful, boy. A guy could think that you need to be taught a lesson.”

Dean’s eyelids fluttered and he canted his hips forward until his crotch was rubbing against John’s. Fighting against the hold just enough to feel it tighten, he rasped out, “Maybe I do.”

Grunting, slamming forward so that Dean was pinned to the table and their hard cocks were lined up, hips leaving bruises on each other’s skin, John kissed the younger man almost viciously. He smiled at the way Dean immediately groaned and arched against him, his body wanton and open and needy.

John gripped Dean’s jaw tight, pinching his cheeks together until his mouth opened involuntarily, before licking deep inside and nipping at his lips. “Wanna get fucked?”

“Yeah,” breathed Dean, darting his tongue out to lap at John’s lips. He was so fucking hard, cock uncomfortable in his pants and making a noticeable wet spot. It had been a while since he’d just let some rugged stranger fuck him and show him who was boss. He couldn’t wait to bend over for the guy; he seemed like the kind who’d make it hurt a little – in the _good_ way. “Come on, do it. Fuck me.”

John kissed him once more, then flipped him over, crashing him down on the kitchen table and kicking his booted feet wide apart. “Stay the fuck still,” he commanded, laying a hard smack on his wriggling rump before stripping his pants down in a couple of jerky tugs.

Experimentally, John pushed a large, blunt finger inside Dean, holding him immobile with a hand to his lower back, casting his eyes around the kitchen just in case. But no, it was as he’d suspected: the kid was still a bit slick from whoever the hell had fucked him last. He felt a twinge of guilt, almost sorrow: Dean was a little broken, that much was obvious, and he shouldn’t take advantage of that. But _damn_ , he was hot – and John was more than a little damaged himself.

“Can you take me like this?” he panted, laying his full weight across Dean’s back and nipping at the shell of his ear, shoving another finger deep inside.

“Hell, yeah,” agreed Dean enthusiastically, thrusting against the table and turning his head back for a dirty, wet kiss. “Hurry the fuck up.”

“Who’s giving the orders here, boy?” smiled John. But he lined up and did as he was told.


	11. Chapter Ten

Lindsey abandoned his pathetic little campsite, running for cover as a horse approached. He heard a crash of leaves and twigs as someone dismounted and scrambled over the riverbank, searching for a hiding place.

A large hand grasped his collar. He turned swinging, only to see Sam holding a hand up in peace. “Hey, hey! Calm down! It’s me.”

Lindsey caught his breath, let himself relax just a bit, and stepped into the mud along the side of the river.

“Shit.” He said, looking down at his boot.

“Come on.” Sam helped him back up the bank.

Lindsey sat on a tree root, feeling weak from the scare, and started to undo his wet boot.

Sam crouched near him, looking over Lindsey’s saddlebag and rude lean-to. “You didn’t make a fire.”

“I was afraid they’d be looking for me.” Lindsey peeled off his wet sock with a grimace.

“Well, good news – it’s just me. And I have better news, about Prince Spike.”

“You do?” Lindsey’s face lit up.

Sam smiled. “I do, but first, I was hoping you could tell me something about this.” He fished the bracelet out of his pocket and spread it out on his palm. “Dean and I found it on the ground after you left.”

Lindsey jumped up. “Mama’s bracelet!” He snatched it from Sam’s hand.

Sam reached after him for a second, then thought better of it. “It was your mother’s?” He tried not to sound too interested.

He needn’t have worried, for Lindsey was wholly absorbed in inspecting the bracelet for damage, not even mindful that he stood with one bare foot on the forest floor. “My daddy near killed me for losing it. This is the only thing I have left of her. Maybe, now I have it back, I can go home.” He looked off as though he could see through the forest to his home. “Maybe he won’t be so mad.”

“But why does it have a ‘W’ on it?” Sam blurted.

Lindsey blinked at him a moment, then snorted. “It’s an ‘M’ for McDonald. My last name.”

Sam could FEEL how stupid he looked, watching Lindsey fasten the bracelet again. “So her name was McDonald, too?” He waved away Lindsey’s incredulous look. “I mean, where did SHE get the bracelet?”

The amused smirk was now downright confused, and a little wary. “Why do you care so much?”

Sam sighed. “I guess there’s no way around this.” He pulled up his sleeve and held out his wrist, showing his identical bracelet. “This is the only clue my brother and I have about our family, the only thing we have from before Uncle Bobby took us in.”

Lindsey held his wrist next to Sam’s. “My dad – he said once, he was drunk, but he said he had another family, another wife, and two boys, but that he lost them. I assumed he meant they were dead. He said the same person who killed Mama was responsible. And then last night, he said something...”

Sam and Lindsey shared a long, quiet stare, and then, they were holding each other by the wrist and smiling like idiots.

“We’re brothers!” Lindsey exclaimed, “Real brothers!”

“Half-brothers. We THINK.” Sam tried to restrain his smile, cautioning himself that he shouldn’t get too excited – but he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. The idea of finding the rest of his family was just too awesome and mind-blowing.

“Better than the step-brothers I’ve got.”

“Can I meet your dad? Our dad?” Sam jumped up, nearly pulling Lindsey off-balance and forgetting all about trying to control himself. “I have a dad!”

They were talking over each other for a bit. “Dean! We have to go get Dean!” “He’ll forget all about my going to the palace!”

Sam laughed, letting go of Lindsey. “Get your shoe back on and let’s take you home.”

He felt a huge sense of relief. All the tension, all the badness was about to end. He just couldn’t wait to see Dean’s face when he and Lindsey came through the door.

*****

Spike was in no state to do anything but moan and lift the cover over his head when he heard someone enter his room. Then his cover was snatched away and he blinked watery eyes against the light, reconsidering his ‘moan’ plan as his brother’s face came into focus.

He licked his dry lips and said, “Fuck off.”

“Aren’t you looking… pretty.” Wesley’s weight depressed the mattress. Spike struggled to turn away, though his body rolled closer. He was weak and sore from the beating, and the hour he’d spent crying afterward. He knew it was weak, crying, it was everything his father said about him... but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t even care about the pain, it was the humiliation, the way his father looked at him when he was finished and ordered the guards to take him away.

It was being dragged back to his room because he couldn’t keep his feet under him.

“What do you want?” Spike turned his face away, at least.

Wesley’s fingertip dragged up the exposed side of Spike’s neck. “Just wanted to make sure you’d gotten the message.”

Spike jerked away, but he didn’t raise his clenched fists from the mattress. He tightened his jaw and determinedly kept his eyes turned away from his brother.

“I see you have.” Wesley placed a delicate kiss on Spike’s ear. “You can’t fight me. By all means, keep trying to, it adds a certain charm to your inevitable defeat, but you will never strike me again. Is that clear?”

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Spike shifted away from Wesley and lifted himself onto his side to face him. “What the hell happened to you to make you this way?”

The hard line of Wesley’s mouth tweaked, with anger or something else, Spike wasn’t sure, and then Wesley got off the bed. “Rest up. You’re no use to me all beaten like this.”

Spike stared after him as Wesley left the room, more afraid than ever before.

*****

“You’re going to love Dad. He’s…wow, he’s tough. And smart. He’s not easy to get close to, but you know he cares.”

Sam followed Lindsey to the back door of his house, smiling at the youthful and eager babble he’d had going since they’d left his small campsite in the woods. “Sounds like him and Dean should get along. I just hope the rest of your family hasn’t scared him off.”

“Oh, no.” Lindsey paused a moment, his hand on the back door. He shook his head. “When my dad’s home, trust me, he’s the only one in charge.”

And with that, Lindsey pushed the door open, revealing the rustic kitchen of the country manor – and more importantly, revealing Dean, face down on the sturdy wooden table with John pounding into him from behind.

For a protracted moment, Sam and Lindsey stood in shock, while John and Dean were too focused to notice the door had opened and they were no longer alone. Lindsey’s face blanched at the sight of his father vigorously fucking another man, while Sam’s jaw hung low, only to be brought up into a straight frown and jealous glare. Far too late, he dropped a hand over Lindsey’s eyes and stepped back into the kitchen garden. The last thing he saw before the door slammed shut was Dean look up in his direction, his face slack with lust.

In the garden, Lindsey pushed Sam away and stomped back to the door. Sam grabbed him to stop him and got pushed again.

“Hey!” Sam grabbed two handfuls of Lindsey’s shirt and pulled him up off his feet. “Is this how your family deals? Calm down.”

Lindsey hit Sam’s arms off of him. With an accusing glare, he yanked the back door open again. “Stop it!”

Sam had no choice but to follow him in, hands raised in an unfelt apology.

Dean rose up on his elbows. “Oh fuck,” he said, looking about as caught-out as he could.

“Son,” John said, looking steadily at Lindsey though his hands were still on Dean’s hips, “take whoever that is out of here and come back in an hour. That’s an order.”

“Daddy, I can’t do that.”

“Uh, Dean? You _really_ want to leave with me now.”

“Sam? Would you get the kid out of here?”

“You mean our little brother?” Sam crossed his arms. “Yeah. Congratulations, Dean, you’ve found our lost family.”

Two sets of blank stares, and then Dean sank down against the table, muttering, “Oh crap.”

John looked down at Dean with growing horror. He backed away. They all pretended not to hear the wet sound of flesh separating. John’s face darkened with blood as he fumbled with his pants. “Get out of here, all of you.”

The door slammed as Lindsey ran out of it, punctuating the awkward silence.

Dean carefully backed off the table, not wanting to bump into John. He shook his head and opened his mouth to make a defusing joke, because he’d never met a bad situation that we wasn’t compelled to make worse.

Fortunately, Sam cut him off. “You just couldn’t wait to drop your pants, could you?”

Fully dressed, John was able to confront them with at least marginal dignity. “Who the hell are you people?”

Sam breathed hard through his nose as he undid the clasp on his bracelet and tossed it onto the table so recently occupied by Dean. His jaw ticked a bit as he chewed on the words he had to say. “Lindsey believes we might be his long-lost brothers.”

The blood drained from John’s face as he stared at the bracelet. Dean glanced from him to Sam and back. He crooked half a smile. “Talk about your first impressions.”

Sam grabbed Dean by the biceps. With a terrible attempt at a neutral expression, he said, “It was nice to meet you. Sir.” He dragged Dean out the door while his brother was still struggling to button up his pants.

*****

John stared at the bracelet with profound shock, the slamming of the back door ringing in his ears.

Cautiously, as if it might transform into a rattlesnake and bite his advancing hand, John reached to slide his fingertips gently over the slightly tarnished metal.

He’d thought the bracelet lost to thieves, to the animals who’d murdered his first wife.

Unwillingly, his mind flew back to that horrific night, when he’d returned to their beautiful, peaceful cabin to find it in ruins, burned and smoldering with his wife dead in the garden and his children gone.

Mary was stunning, vibrant and willful. Their love was strong, passionate, turbulent – and important enough for her to defy her family. Important enough to relinquish the throne that would have been hers one day.

Their monarchy laws made no gender distinction and she would have been crowned Queen when her father died, had she still been alive. However, she’d long made the decision to abdicate to her younger brother, Giles, as he must have known; after all, she’d told her disapproving father to go fuck himself and left the palace and royal life to live unremarkably – and happily – with John, bearing him two boys during their six-year marriage.

Giles, apparently, hadn’t trusted her to turn the kingdom over to him. When their father fell ill, he had his guards ambush their contented little household, instructing them to kill his sister and snatch her sons.

John hadn’t been there, otherwise both he – and perhaps his boys – would have been dead too.

As it was, a warning had been carved into the blackened porch of the house.

_Leave it alone or the boys die._

He’d fled, absorbed in grief and rage. He couldn’t openly accuse the man who was about to be crowned King – unless he wanted to be hanged for treason – and he couldn’t risk a covert attack either. He had no idea what Giles had done with his children, but he knew that the man wouldn’t hesitate to slice their throats if John defied him. They were nothing but collateral to him.

John had been so young, then. Terrified, grieving and alone, unsure what to do for the best, he’d prayed that his boys were being allowed to live, being looked after, and he’d tried to move on. Several years later, a wonderful, sweet woman – who only ever knew him under his assumed name of McDonald and never heard the sad Winchester tale – had helped him to do that. She’d given him love, and Lindsey; his life meant something again, and they’d been happy.

Until the fire that claimed her life and drove John half mad with cumulative sorrow and guilt, because he’d _known_ that the same man was responsible. He’d spent the last decade on the fringes of society with like-minded suffering individuals, trying to find a way to overthrow – or assassinate – King Giles, refusing to think about the sons he would never find and ignoring the one that was right there.

But it seemed that Fate had stepped in and he’d found them after all. The bracelet was undoubtedly the first-year anniversary present he’d gifted Mary, the partner to his own, which he’d eventually given to his second wife and had been lost after her death – only to be mysteriously returned to Lindsey recently by some strange guardian. The boys – men – were the right age, and it was _exactly_ the kind of sick stunt that the king would pull to raise them in servitude to his own sons, when in fact they should have been the next heirs to the throne.

He hadn’t named them Dean and Sam (Giles and Mary’s parents had been called Deanna and Samuel though – a taunt from that fucking asshole), but that didn’t matter. John knew in his heart that they were his lost children, strong and healthy and _alive_.

The sudden soaring joy that filled John’s heart was abruptly tempered by his remembrance of what he and Dean had done. What Lindsey and Sam had caught them doing.

His own son! He’d…

John staggered with the weight of his realization, grabbing hold of the table for support and then abruptly snatching his hand away as if burned. That was the site of their sin. _His_ sin.

Shock and grief and remorse and horror – and _relief_ , Christ, his babies were alive – crashed through him and he sank to the floor, tears spilling down his cheeks.

He had to find them, all three of them, but how could he possibly face them after what he’d done to Dean?

How could any of them ever forgive him?

*****

“Sam, look…”

“Shut the fuck up,” growled Sam savagely. They were trying to find Lindsey, who’d taken off at a run while Dean was still distracted trying to fasten his pants. “Concentrate on finding our _brother_.”

Dean flinched slightly at the reminder, and shut the fuck up.

Lindsey hadn’t gotten far. They found him at the base of a tree on the outskirts of the property, knees drawn up to his chest and face buried in his hands. He was shivering a little, probably from shock.

Sam crouched beside him. “Hey.”

Lindsey slowly looked up, past Sam and to Dean, whom he subjected to a dark glare.

Dean held his hands up. “I know that wasn’t exactly a treat for you, kid, but I can assure you that it wasn’t much fun for me, either.”

Sam narrowed his eyes and Dean could _hear_ him thinking that Dean had sure looked like he’d been having fun. However, in the interests of not upsetting Lindsey any further, he said, “It’s not your… our… dad’s fault, Lindsey. He didn’t know. Neither did Dean.”

The last part was said grudgingly and Dean bit his lip to keep himself from starting a conversation that they really didn’t want to have in front of the kid.

“Yeah, well what the fuck were they doing, anyway?” demanded Lindsey, voice strained and overwhelmed; there had been far too many revelations for one day. “Dad’s married and Dean was just some random stranger! Plus, he’s a guy!”

“I know it’s a lot to take in…”

Lindsey snorted derisively.

“Look,” cut in Dean, “We need to forget about it. It’s not relevant to our next steps, which is what we need to think about now. It was just an accident. A really, _really_ horrible accident.”

“Agreed,” nodded Sam, who in fact had absolutely no intention of forgetting about it once they were alone and he could punch Dean in the face unobserved.

Lindsey shrugged, clearly unhappy but knowing that he didn’t have much choice. “So what are we gonna do?”

“Well, for starters, he needs to explain to us how the hell we ended up _lost_ for twenty-some goddamned years,” asserted Dean. While he was astonished and excited that they might finally have found a family, he couldn’t help the natural resentment he felt and the questions he had. Why hadn’t John looked for them?

“And then we need to think about how to get you to Spike,” added Sam dutifully, recalling their pretended reason for their excursion from the palace.

“Could we sneak him in?” wondered Dean.

“And then what? Keep him in our room like a pet?” scoffed Sam sarcastically.

“I meant for the night, asshat. Then he and Spike can get together and… whatever.” He coughed delicately. “And then…”

And then Spike can decide if the kid’s worth risking everything for, he thought but didn’t say.

“Forget it.”

They all jumped at the sound of John’s voice. They’d been absorbed in their discussion and his approach had been almost eerily silent.

Avoiding looking at Dean, he said, “I’m gonna explain to you what happened; I know I owe you answers. And then maybe you’ll understand why Lindsey can never go to the palace again; it’s too dangerous.”

Still smarting over what he’d witnessed, Lindsey jumped confrontationally to his feet. “That’s _my_ decision, not yours! And I don’t care if it is dangerous. Spike needs me.”

John sighed. “Son, you don’t even know him. Besides, he’s…”

“What?” sneered Lindsey. “A man? Guess that particular proclivity runs in the family.”

Everyone winced at that one.

“Just come back inside and listen to what I have to say. Please.”

John herded them back toward the kitchen, steeling himself and sighing at their stony, hostile silence. Well, this was going to be awkward.

*****

“Dad?”

Giles looked up to see Wesley closing the door to his study, shutting all the guards on the other side of it.

“Wesley. What is it, son?” he asked indulgently, sitting back in his large chair.

“I…” He cast a glance around. “Where’s Gunn?”

“Taking a break.” Actually, the bodyguard was cleaning up, having spent the last hour allowing the king to fuck him in that deliciously reluctant and resigned way that he had. “What is it that you need?”

Wes, who’d been intending to usher Gunn out of the room anyway, gave a careless shrug, although he narrowed his eyes as he partially guessed where the young guard was. “Nothing from him. I wanted to speak with you.”

The king watched him expectantly as he stepped around the desk, leaning up against it very close to where his father was sitting.

“I’ve seen Spike.”

“Oh, yes?” smiled Giles, appraising his youngest as he perched artfully against the intricate woodwork, long legs slightly spread. He was such a beautiful boy, with strong features and cool blue eyes, very different to Spike. Less obvious.

“He’s in pain – in every sense.”

“Good. Hopefully he’ll understand that he should just accept what he’s told to do.”

“I did what you suggested. Am I to remain in this ‘threat’ territory, or will I actually be allowed to deliver sometime soon?”

Giles stifled a chuckle, amused by Wesley’s slightly testy attitude. “Have patience, child. It’s not as if you don’t have plenty of other projects to occupy you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the best you’re going to get. For now, just leave things as they are.”

“Why?” asked Wes, his voice caught somewhere between irritated and petulant. “Because you want him for yourself?”

“Wesley,” said Giles calmly. Warningly. “Do as you’re told and don’t second-guess me.”

The prince held his eyes for a tense moment, then sighed and dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m just… restless.”

The king raised an eyebrow. He had a pretty good idea what that was a euphemism for. His suspicions were confirmed when Wes shifted uncomfortably, almost squirming against the desk and looking terribly self-conscious at his father’s scrutiny.

“Maybe we could…”

“I’m busy, Wesley.” Well, shagged out from subjugating Gunn, really. He had business to attend to and it would be a while before he was ready for further… entertainment. But that was okay, because his darling boy was a lot more fun when he was desperate and jealous and pissed off.

“Busy,” repeated Wes, voice flat and skeptical. That he was angry about the rejection was obvious, and the king suspected that it was mostly because his older brother had been getting so much ‘attention’. The whole situation was delightfully ironic, considering that Spike would willingly forfeit every second of Giles’ focus on him.

“Yes, busy. I do have a kingdom to run, in case you’ve forgotten. And I don’t need you tugging on my shirttails and demanding to be noticed like a toddler.”

Wesley’s face colored and he glowered darkly at the floor. With a concerted effort, he nodded and said through clenched teeth, “Yes, of course.”

The king didn’t like to see his boy hurt and dejected, but it _did_ tend to have pleasant consequences. It always had.

Standing up, his body mere inches from his son’s, he rested a large hand where Wesley’s shoulder met his neck, caressing lightly. “Go find something – or someone – to play with. Have one of the Winchesters, if you like; they’ve been pissing me off recently. We can… talk later.”

Wes nodded as his father pressed a lingering kiss to his temple, scowling to himself as he was then turned around and pushed lightly toward the door, a quick pat on the arse sending him on his way.

He detested being treated like a child.

Wesley stormed back to his chambers, trying to decide who he felt like hurting to ease his temper. He really wanted to take it out on his brother, and was furious that he was still being forbidden to, which led him to consider how he could damage Spike without actually touching him.

He realized that he needed complete control over the person who was intended to have complete control over Spike.

Smiling to himself as the idea began to take shape in his mind, he burst into his room. “Winchester, where are you? Come here! Dean?” Cursing to himself as he remembered that he’d sent the troublesome guard away, he irritably stomped back outside to find another errand boy.

Musing as to whether it would be worth the potential risk to get Sam Winchester chained up in the dungeon and flogged, and then fuck him like a little bitch – because Dean was on his shit list right now, and he had an Achilles Heel six and a half feet tall – Wes snatched the nearest frightened young guard by the arm.

“Go and find me the new Prince Consort.”

He and Angel had a few things to discuss.

*****

“Sam! For God’s sake, I said I was sorry!”

They were finally alone, freaked out about the tale their father had told, aware that their newfound knowledge that Dean was the true heir to the throne could be their death warrant – and yet Sam was _still_ bitching about Dean’s… indiscretion.

“You must have been with him for all of five fucking minutes, Dean! What the hell kind of a slut are you, huh? How many men have you let fuck you that I don’t know about?”

“None!” shouted Dean, not quite truthfully. “How could I possibly do anything without you knowing? We’re together twenty-four hours a goddamned day.”

Sam bristled, and Dean realized that was entirely the wrong thing to say.

“I don’t mean it like that… I don’t fuck other people, because I’m happy with you.”

“Apart from some complete stranger who happens to be old enough to –” Sam cut himself off abruptly.

Dean laughed hollowly. “Be my father? Is that what you were gonna say?”

“Shut up, Dean. Don’t even talk about that.”

“Yeah, ‘cause Heaven forbid we mention the incest… Disgusting, right?” Dean raised his eyebrow pointedly.

Sam gave him a reproachful look, working hard to contain his anger. “That’s not fair, Dean. It’s different with us.”

“Yeah, it is,” agreed Dean. “I _knew_ you were my brother and fucked you anyway. What happened with John... Dad... was an accident.”

Sam looked away, shoulders tense. He knew that he had to let it go, but it was difficult, especially since there had been so many shocks in such a short period of time and he was feeling unsettled and insecure.

“What do you want me to do, Sam?” sighed Dean. He was feeling just as disturbed as his brother – more so, really, considering what had happened – and he didn’t want them to be mad with one another. They had one hell of a hard and dangerous road ahead of them, which Dean was too astonished to even _begin_ to think about right now, and he needed a bit of normality.

And yeah, for him ‘normality’ involved being on illegally, unnaturally intimate terms with his brother. Sucked to be them. But he didn’t want things to change, even if they did have a father and little brother to hide their relationship from now.

“I don’t know!” snapped Sam, throwing his hands up in the air. He wanted Dean to fix their complicated, ridiculous lives, but that wasn’t in the cards. He also wanted to be the only person who Dean ever looked at with those beautiful ‘fuck me’ eyes, the only one who was allowed to touch and taste and take. Hypocritical and selfish, sure, but Sam was feeling entitled. Especially since he’d just found out exactly how much they’d been deprived of by King Giles.

And how the _fuck_ were they supposed to work for that asshole now without stabbing him in the throat? Knowing that he’d killed their mom – his own sister – and taken them from their father.

“Hey, come on,” said Dean soothingly, reaching out and snagging Sam’s arm, slowly pulling him closer. “Come here.”

Sam scowled but allowed Dean to wrap his arms around him. After a couple of stiff, unresponsive moments, he relaxed against his brother and sighed as their foreheads pressed together.

“I’m sorry, okay? I love you, Sammy, and we gotta stick together right now. We’re gonna have to help sort this mess out, and it’s gonna be dangerous, because it’ll be hard to act normal while we work with Dad to take Giles down.” He was whispering now, all too aware of the treason he was committing. “And in the short term, we gotta try to help Spike.”

“I can’t believe he’s our cousin. How surreal is that?” murmured Sam, mouth catching at Dean’s as they spoke right against each other’s lips.

“I know. And he’s been fucked over just as badly as we have.”

“But we’re gonna help him, right?”

“Sure,” shrugged Dean. “But don’t expect him to be all that grateful.”

“What? Why?”

“Dude... If we succeed, he won’t be a prince anymore.”

Sam nodded, chewing his lip. “I know. But... You didn’t see him after Angel spent the night with him. And I’ve seen the marks from his dad beating the shit out of him. Plus, Wesley’s just biding his time – I think he really wants to hurt Spike, bad. So maybe he won’t care all that much that he can’t be a prince.”

“Maybe,” acknowledged Dean, running his hand through Sam’s hair. “Maybe Lindsey will be enough for him.”

Sam snorted. “If Dad lets them get closer than opposite sides of the room. Did you see the look on his face?”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, but it wasn’t like he could say anything, was it?”

“No,” growled Sam, clamping his teeth down on Dean’s necking and biting hard enough to make him yip. “Not when he apparently likes slutty young guys himself. You know what? I’m not really sure you’ve paid enough for that little stunt...”

Dean arched into Sam as his brother roughly mauled his ass, grinding shamelessly against his hip. He’d been left unsatisfied after the revelation earlier and was still as horny as hell. “Maybe you’re right...”

They were going to try to sneak Lindsey into the palace later, even though John had ordered them not to, because they thought that both young men needed something good in their lives before everything got shattered by their kingdom-changing secret.

But right now they had a little time.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Lindsey still wasn’t sure how he felt about Dean. It didn’t help that he couldn’t look the guy in the face, after what he’d seen, but he did trust Sam. Enough to wait for him, alone, at a dark crossroads.

So of course it was Dean who showed up, just as the sky was lightening and Lindsey was worrying whether he should give up and go home.

“Where’s Sam?” Lindsey asked as soon as Dean reined his horse in.

“Nice to see you, too,” Dean deadpanned. He held down his hand. “Come on, we have to move.”

Reluctantly, Lindsey took his half-brother’s hand and let him pull him up onto the saddle behind him. “We just made this plan four hours ago. What the hell has changed already?”

Dean chuckled. “You’re new to making plans, aren’t you?” He urged Impala around and started her back toward the palace. He could feel the resentment and tension in the way Lindsey held onto him. “Relax, kid. It’s not a big change. Just Sam’s more believable to be hanging around Spike’s room. We didn’t think I’d be able to get away,” he glanced over his shoulder with a smirk, “but Prince Wesley’s got himself another fun project to work on tonight.”

Lindsey didn’t relax. “What does that even mean?”

“Trust me, kid, you don’t want to know.”

*****

Angel sauntered into the room with a smug, if not come-hither expression. “You asked to see me, Sire?”

Wesley could hardly contain his smirk. Good, it was so much better when they had some confidence to beat down. He turned his back on Angel to pour himself a drink. “Close the door and make certain it is locked.”

Wesley noted with annoyance a moment’s hesitation before the snick of the lock.

Angel said, “Is this when you start instructing me on my duties as consort? Because I have a few ideas, myself, on how we can work well together.”

Wesley stopped Angel’s advance with a glare. Angel blinked in confusion, eyes shifting to the side, obviously trying to retrace his steps and see where he’d crossed the line.

Wesley closed the distance between them. He set his fingertips on Angel’s chest and gently pushed. Angel took a step back. Wesley smiled nastily. “Take off your clothes.”

A flicker of understanding passed over Angel’s features and his smile returned. “So it’s a demonstration? Those are always more fun.” He slipped out of his suit jacket with a playful flexing of his shoulders.

Wesley slapped him.

Anger bloomed on Angel’s face. Wesley watched Angel try to hold it in. He obviously did not have much practice. His fist was well on its way to Wesley’s face before he stopped it. He held still a moment before, with effort, lowering his arm to his side.

“Are you going to fight me?” Wesley asked. “Or do you want to _keep_ your position as my brother’s consort? It’s all the same to me, really.”

Angel’s jaw flexed. He looked away.

“Good,” Wesley purred. “I see we understand each other.”

Angel brought his expression under control, turning back to Wesley with what he no doubt thought was a placating smile. “I thought –”

“I’m not interested in anything you _thought_. Now get undressed. Quickly.”

Angel wrestled his way out of his clothes like he was beating them into submission. There was more than one tearing sound as he threw each garment off. Wesley sipped his drink and enjoyed the show. There was so much emotion pouring off the man – anger and resentment, yes, but also heat. Wesley was not surprised to see Angel’s cock pop out of his drawers fully hard when he removed them.

“There we are.” He set his hand on the pleasantly thick shaft and gave it a good stroke. “See how much more pleasant things are when you obey me?”

“I thought I was supposed to be Spike’s consort,” Angel said, huskily. He leaned into Wesley’s grip.

Wesley pursed his lips and gave Angel’s cock a hard squeeze. Angel made a choked whine. Wesley rested his cheek against Angel’s, feeling his cold sweat. “What did I say about voicing your thoughts?” When Angel didn’t answer right away, Wesley dug his fingers in and twisted.

Angel rose up on his toes to escape the sensation, one hand reaching out to Wesley, but wisely not touching. He coughed and in a very rough voice, said, “Not to.”

“That’s right.” Wesley let go. Angel sagged in relief, coming dangerously close to leaning against Wesley. “Now get on the bed, and let’s see what else you can learn.”

*****

Dean leaned against a wall, peering around the corner ahead of them. After a few seconds, he beckoned Lindsey to follow and ran. They stopped again inside an empty niche. It was just a back corridor, strewn with straw and smelling of the nearby stables, but Lindsey couldn’t help gaping around himself. Being in the palace, in the grand public ballroom, well, that was something, but now he was deep behind the scenes. It had even more of an air of the forbidden and gave him the urge to laugh nervously. He had to keep rubbing the smile off his face as Dean led him around another bend and then straightened from his crouch. “Walk normal,” he said, and set off at a casual pace, not glancing back at him.

They went up a narrow stairway that bent halfway up, and then down a wider hall with windows all along one side. Dean slowed his stride and checked that Lindsey was close to him. “Okay, here’s the deal. Sam’s waiting in Spike’s chamber. It’s the fourth door on the left, down that corridor ahead of us.”

Lindsey’s head spun. “Fourth… left. That way?” He pointed.

Dean smacked his hand down. “Could you try not looking like a tourist? Yes. That way. I’m going to keep walking straight. I have to make sure Wesley’s still nice and occupied. Knock three times, then twice, then once. Sam will open the door. If Sam doesn’t open the door, run back the way we came and wait in the stable. Got it?”

They were almost to the corridor. Lindsey bit his lip. “What then?”

“We don’t plan ‘what then’. This is the plan. Sam gets you in to Spike, you convince him to run off with you. End of plan. You get into ‘what then’ and we’re talking until morning. Now go.”

Dean gave him a gentle shove in the direction of Spike’s room and continued on his way, walking casually as ever, so that anyone looking would not know, now that they were parted, that the two men had come this far together.

Lindsey screwed up his courage and started counting doorways. The first two were small and close together, then the third, and the fourth was a distance away from any other door. It was one large, open, exposed piece of corridor. Lindsey wondered if Dean couldn’t have brought him in a more secluded way. The jerk. He raised his fist, felt a moment’s urge to pause, squelched it, and knocked three times.

The door opened instantly and Sam grabbed his arm, pulling him inside.

Once the door shut again, Lindsey said, “What about the secret knock?”

Sam shrugged. “I got nervous.”

“Lindsey?” Spike rose with obvious difficulty from his chair near the fire and, wincing, tried to assume a dignified stance. “Sam told me you were coming.” He closed the distance in three strides and took hold of Lindsey’s arms. “This is reckless and stupid, love. You shouldn’t be here. What if someone catches you?”

For a moment all Lindsey could think was that his love was touching him. He shook the goofy smile from his face, partially. “I’m here to rescue you.” He took hold of Spike’s arms in turn, and they both held each other.

Spike looked disbelieving but hopeful. “But it’s impossible, Lindsey. Where could we go? My father rules the bloody country!”

“I don’t care. We’ll find another country.”

Spike shook his head.

“Just run away with me, Spike,” Lindsey said.

Sam coughed. “I’ll just leave you two alone to talk a bit.” Sam took a discreet step toward the door, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. “Just… don’t open the door unless it’s our knock. Three, two, one. Got it?”

Lindsey and Spike didn’t look at him or acknowledge the question, but Sam supposed that was too much to ask, really, as they basked in each other’s gaze. He slipped out to guard the room from the outside.

He hoped things were going as smoothly for Dean.

*****

Dean stuck his head into Wesley’s room, not really hoping to catch him there, but Wesley’s sweat-tousled head rose up from the struggling mass of limbs on the bed and his icy eyes tracked to Dean like he’d called out to him.

“There you are,” Wesley snapped. “Help me hold him down. He’s breaking the rope!”

Dean sighed, resigned to his continuous service as a rape-assistant.

Angel growled around his gag, thrashing his head. Dean set his hands, unwilling and a little disgusted, on his muscular, sweat-gleaming shoulders and held him down. There was a vulgar sucking sound as Wesley extracted his left fist from Angel’s ass.

Wesley sat up on his knees, looking down at Angel struggling against Dean’s hold with a sigh of disappointment. “He’s so much work, isn’t he?”

Dean just bit his lip, pressed down, and tried to pretend he was anywhere but there.

*****

Sam settled himself against the wall next to the closed door, caught between smiling at the sweetness and rolling his eyes at the naivety.

It was cute how Lindsey seemed to think he could just whisk Spike out of the palace and run away to live happily ever after. Even with all the help that Sam, Dean and their father could offer, it was going to be highly dangerous. And, if things didn’t go their way and Giles remained in power, Spike and Lindsey would spend the rest of their lives as fugitives, _if_ they managed to get away in the first place.

Of course, their chances of overthrowing Giles would be greatly increased if Spike and Lindsey could escape. The whole kingdom would be looking for the missing prince, including all the palace guards, and that would provide a marvelous distraction and window of opportunity. Plus, neither of the boys could be used as leverage by the king if they disappeared.

Not that Lindsey really cared about any of that, Sam could tell. He just wanted someone to love – and for his miserable little life to turn into a fairy tale. Honestly, Sam could sort of relate.

He wondered how Dean was faring. Sure that the two young men would be all right for a minute – hell, he knew how he’d be using the time if he was them – he stepped quietly down the corridor, intending to check whether his brother was stationed outside Wesley’s chambers.

As he rounded the corner, he didn’t see Dean – but he _did_ hear a pained shout from inside Prince Wesley’s room.

“Dean!” called Sam, drawing his weapon and rushing for the door. He didn’t know what he thought was happening – in fact, he wasn’t really thinking at all. The last few hours had been intense and overwhelming, ramping up his fear and adrenaline, and he was suddenly terrified that Wesley’s had discovered Dean’s secret.

He had to check.

*****

Spike looked intently at Lindsey. “Big risk you took, coming here.”

Lindsey shrugged. “It’s worth it.”

“How do you know?”

He returned Spike’s gaze, holding his eyes as he replied, “I don’t know how. I just do.”

“You’re mad, you are,” said Spike, but a grin broke out on his face.

“Dumb’s probably more like it. Do you think you’ll be able to overlook that? Maybe get used to it?” asked Lindsey, biting his lip.

Spike reached up and ran his thumb over Lindsey’s cheek, cupping his jaw. “Maybe. Guess I could give it a go.”

Lindsey drew in an excited and nervous breath just before Spike’s lips met his in a firm, sweet kiss that they relaxed into, wrapping their arms around one another.

Spike flinched as Lindsey touched fresh bruises and the other man pulled away slightly, a look of concern creasing his face. “Are you okay?”

Spike nodded, pressing harder against him and ignoring the pain in his body; he wasn’t going to let the abuse he’d suffered ruin this. “I’m fine. Why don’t you shut up and kiss me?”

“Yes, Sire,” smiled Lindsey.

They kissed for a long time, exploring one another and getting used to all the new feelings – not the least of which was learning to associate a man’s touch with desire instead of pain. Spike particularly took in all the little details and the ways in which it was different from being with a girl – the large hands and firm muscles, ridges and grooves instead of rounded curves. The thing that surprised him the most was how hard, rough palms and fingers handled him so gently.

They were hard by the time they released one another’s mouths, breathless and pink with the excitement of it all.

Spike held Lindsey’s hands, one on each side, their chests still pressed together. Touching the other man’s forehead with his own, he murmured, “Come to bed with me.”

Lindsey smiled and nodded, the movement jostling him against Spike, but the prince could feel how his muscles tensed and his breath hitched.

“I don’t mean... We don’t have to do... that. Not if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to – with you.” He slid a hand around the back of Spike’s neck and caressed him. “I never thought I’d want to be with a guy, not after...” He blew out a breath, trying to gather himself together; he hadn’t wanted to believe what Sam had alluded to, but seeing the damage on Spike’s face, he knew it was true. “Angel. I think you know what he did to me; actually, I think you know firsthand. And I’m so sorry.”

Spike saw the unshed tears in Lindsey’s eyes and kissed him. “Nothing you could have done, love. You tried to warn me, but my dad left me in a position where my choice was taken away.” He stroked Lindsey’s hair and began to walk him slowly back toward the large bed. “It would have been you, you know. If I’d really been allowed to choose like I was supposed to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” agreed Spike as they toppled down onto the soft mattress. “God, I wish you’d been my first.”

Lindsey nodded, framing Spike’s hips with his hands. “Well... Then let’s do that. Let’s be each other’s first.”

“I don’t understand...”

“What he did to us? That was rape. It shouldn’t count. A person gets to choose who they give themselves to – and I choose you.”

Spike thought about it a moment, then ducked his head in acknowledgement, sliding his hands over Lindsey’s chest and then tackling his shirt buttons. “Okay, yeah. I choose you, too.”

Satisfied, they stripped one another naked, clumsy and self-conscious at first. But they relaxed once they began to softly touch the exposed skin, wordlessly kissing each other’s bruises, the gifts from Angel and their respective fathers. It was cathartic to overlay the hurt with something good and tender.

Their caresses soon became more urgent as their need increased, cocks straining against each other and leaving tacky smears on one another’s thighs and belly.

Spike rolled them so that they were on their sides, facing one another, and then haltingly ran his fingers up Lindsey’s shaft, watching the hard flesh jerk as if to meet him. He liked the silky feel of it. Testing the weight of it in his hands, he decided he liked that too – as did Lindsey, judging by his low moan.

“This is nice. I should tell you, though... I don’t really know what to do with it.”

Lindsey laughed, kissing Spike’s mouth and sliding a hand down his side before curling it over his hip and finger-walking up the prince’s cock. “Me either. I kinda think we’ll figure it out though.”

Spike squeezed Lindsey’s length, smiling as he cursed. “Yeah. Looks that way.”

It was true that neither of them had any consensual experience with a man. But a small amount of experimentation soon yielded some extremely satisfactory results, especially since they’d both been so deprived of touches intended to bring pleasure instead of pain. Mouths fused together, they were soon stripping one another’s dicks, legs twined together, and Spike worked his hand between Lindsey’s thighs. Thumb playing over his balls, he tentatively rubbed the pads of his fingers between the other man’s cheeks.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” agreed Lindsey, shuffling so that he could spread his legs a little wider and allow Spike better access. He was already incredibly excited, just from the touching and finally being so close to the man he’d fantasized about for so long, and even he was surprised by how much he really _wanted_ Spike to breach him. “You can do it. Please.”

Groaning, Spike flicked his tongue over Lindsey’s lips and then pulled his hand from its warm, comfortable spot for just long enough to suck his fingers wet. Then he pressed against Lindsey’s hole again, working in small circles and loosening him up enough to push one finger slowly inside.

“Fuck,” breathed Lindsey, although the expletive clearly wasn’t a complaint. He shifted to get Spike deeper, simply astonished at how different the sensation of being filled was when you trusted someone and wanted to be closer to them. “That’s amazing. You can do more...”

Spike leaned close, their lips almost touching and said teasingly, “You’re just saying that because I’m a prince.”

_No, you’re not. And maybe one day you’re going to be on the run, with nothing. And I’ll want you just as much._

Lindsey said nothing, just kissing Spike and wrapping his leg around him, further opening up his body and encouraging the other man to slide another finger inside him.

“I want you. I’m ready; you can do it. Just fuck me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you...”

Lindsey just gave a quick shake of his head and Spike couldn’t resist for any longer. He brought his hand up and both he and Lindsey lapped and sucked at his fingers until he couldn’t take it anymore and he smeared the slickness over his dick.

Lindsey eagerly repositioned himself to make it as easy as possible for both of them. When Spike sank into him, he hissed and bit down on the other man’s shoulder, but he rocked down into the sensation, chasing more. Spike insisted on keeping the pace slow to start with, kissing and stroking his new lover, murmuring encouragements and sweet nothings to him. But soon they got caught up in it, finding their rhythm and chasing their sharply mounting excitement. Lindsey was hard and leaking against Spike’s abdomen as they thrust against each other, moaning into one another’s mouths and clutching tightly.

Their give and take was perfect, the intimacy greater than either had experienced before, and despite their lack of experience they reached their peak simultaneously, crying out against heated and sweaty skin.

Still dizzy with the pleasure, they clung to one another on the rumpled bed-sheets as their hearts began to slow. Sighing contentedly, Spike petted his hand through Lindsey’s hair, tugging lightly at the tangles, and then rested their foreheads together.

“That was incredible.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Spike smiled. “I’m so glad I chose you.” His expression faltered as he considered that and he whispered, “How will I ever let you go?”

Lindsey shook his head and firmly cupped Spike’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You won’t. It’s gonna work out.”

“How?”

“We’re gonna have help.” Before Spike could question him, he added, “And anyway, it just has to work.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked with sad amusement. “And why’s that?”

“Because I love you.”

Spike absorbed that for a moment and then he nodded, realizing that there was no counter-argument that would be good enough. If you were going to hang your hat on anything in the world, find even one thing to believe in, then it might as well be love.

Impractical, sure. But they were young, they’d both suffered, and finally they had something good to cling to. The odds were stacked highly against them, but in that moment, still warm and sticky, it just didn’t matter.

“I love you too.”

They were still kissing when they fell into a deep slumber.


	13. Chapter Twelve

“Dean!” Sam burst through the door to Wesley’s chambers, sword drawn.

Dean’s eyes were huge, his lips hurriedly forming some anxious, silent command. Sam confusedly realized first that Dean was okay, but in a struggle. A muscular shoulder lifted and turned under Dean’s hands. Wesley’s bare ass flexed rhythmically under the swaying tail of his shirt. Darker, thicker legs framed Wesley’s.

And then Wesley turned his head to look at Sam, and Sam knew he’d made a big, big mistake.

“Help!” Angel cried, trying to crawl out from under Dean.

Wesley’s quiet, strained, “Dean?” rang with promises of painful vengeance.

Dean let go of Angel and ran to Sam. “What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!”

Which might not have been the best move Dean could have made, as Angel was immediately able to buck off Wesley, who fell from the bed with a loud crash. Angel was no quieter, a falling pile of bare limbs scrambling to get to his feet without coordination while his hands remained bound.

“Dean!” Wesley fell forward on a suddenly empty bed, scrambling after Angel. “Help me!”

Dean tried to push Sam away and lunge after Angel, but Sam grabbed onto him. “What are you… is that Lindsey’s brother?”

“Yes, and he’s an asshole, so let me go and forget you were here.”

The door swung open, revealing Gunn with his sword drawn. Everyone froze where they were.

Gunn had heard sounds of struggle and the prince shouting for help and now he was trying hard to take in the tableau before him, and wondering if he could conveniently forget it: Wesley’s ass hanging out of his pants as he lay stretched out on the floor, hands grasped around the ankle of Angel, who was mostly naked and scuttling backwards, while Sam and Dean held onto each other at arm’s length like they were about to dance a jig.

Wesley recovered first. “Get out, all of you!”

Dean and Sam let go of each other and took a step back. Gunn stayed where he was. “Pull up your pants, Prince Wesley, and tell me what you’re doing here.”

Sam covered his mouth as a small grin grew at the thought that Wesley was at last going to get in trouble for his perversions.

Wesley let go of Angel’s ankle. His expression was very dark. Dean pushed Sam toward the door.

Wesley stood, pulling his pants up as he went, and narrowed his eyes. “Tell me what YOU are doing here. With all the guardsmen in my room, who is watching my brother?” He glared at Sam and Dean and Gunn in turn, utterly ignoring Angel, who resumed his crawl away from him. “Did my father, the king, not say that Prince Spike was to be guarded at all times?”

Sam’s hand dropped from his mouth. “Uh… I’ll go right now.”

He turned and tried not to look like he was hurrying.

After a beat, Gunn followed, matching pace at his side. “Mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

“Nothing… uh… I heard a struggle, too. That’s why I entered Prince Wesley’s chambers. Look, you really don’t need to follow me back to Spike’s room. I left him asleep.”

“I sure as hell am not going to stand in front of the king after his son tells him my men were derelict in their duties without concrete evidence to refute that.”

“I’m telling you the kid is safe in bed. Seeing it isn’t any dif…”

Dean came scrambling up to them, his shoes making squeaking sounds on the smooth floor. “Hey, uh, that Angel guy snuck out. Wesley’s really pissed. We have to find him.”

“And do what?” Gunn stared at Dean incredulously. “Angel is the chosen consort for Prince Spike. Wesley doesn’t get to send us to fetch him.”

They were now quite near Prince Spike’s door, and Sam and Dean exchanged eloquent glances over Gunn’s shoulder, each pleading with the other to figure out a way to get rid of the senior guard.

“Uh… did I hear the king calling?” Dean asked in the least believable way.

Sam covered his eyes.

Then they all heard a groan from Prince Spike’s quarters: deep and resonant and not Prince Spike.

Gunn pushed Sam out of the way and flung open the door.

Shaking his head at the writhing forms on the bed, he lowered his sword and said, “You gotta be kidding. Is that all that goes on around here?”

Two startled, flushed faces popped up from the bedcovers.

“I can explain,” Sam quickly slid in beside Gunn.

Gunn raised his sword toward him. “You’d better hope you CAN’T.”

Dean held onto his brother. Spike tried to get Lindsey to hide behind him. All eyes were on Gunn, and his steady sword pointed at Sam, as more palace guards flooded into the room.

*****

In the end, Spike had to be restrained as they dragged Lindsey off to the dungeon. Dean was more stoic, clenching his fists and staring hard at his fellow guards as Sam was taken down to the dungeon as well. He was charged with negligence, whereas Lindsey was being accused of raping the prince.

“You’re heartless. You bastard.” Spike strained to get at his father, practically hanging from the guards that held him. “With your money and power, you can have anything, anyone, but you can’t let us have one tiny bit of happiness? Is it because no-one loves you? Not even Wesley. You can’t call that love.” His voice was horse with shouting into his father’s impassive face. He gave up, straightening, and quietly added, “You have servants and slaves, but if you died there wouldn’t be a wet eye in the kingdom.”

“That’s quite enough,” King Giles said, sighing wearily and gesturing at the guards. “Secure Prince Spike in the tower, and see that his guard stays there this time.”

Spike struggled to stay put. “I don’t care what you do to me, let Lindsey go!”

Giles leaned forward, gripping the arms of his throne. “I certainly won’t with that attitude. Your little whore will spend the rest of his life under this castle, repenting the day he ever saw you.” He glared at the guards. “Get him out of here. Can’t you handle one skinny little boy?”

Chagrined, the nearest guard picked Spike up bodily and hoisted him out of the room.

Giles leaned back, rubbing his temple. “Now, as for you.” He flicked a finger toward Dean, who stepped forward, shoulders square, face carefully blank. Giles contemplated him a moment, as one would an unexpected stain. “You had no knowledge of this plot to defile my son?”

Dean thought to himself that it was good he had so much experience hearing (and not reacting to) hypocritical bullshit. “I don’t believe my brother did, either, Your Majesty.”

Giles’ flinty grey eyes seemed to cut right into Dean. “You and your brother seem to have a bit of a problem with loyalty.”

“Not at all, Sire. We both take our jobs and our oaths seriously.”

Giles’ expression changed not a bit. “I dare say you’re almost too loyal.”

Dean almost shrugged, but thought better of it. “I can’t see how that’s a problem.”

“It’s a problem when the loyalty in question is not to _me_.”

Dean could almost hear the warnings his subconscious was shouting. He dropped his gaze. “We’ll always be loyal to the kingdom and its crown, Your Majesty. That was our oath when we became guardsmen.”

There was a gentle creak as Giles leaned back in his chair. “Very well. You can prove that loyalty tomorrow at dawn when you escort your brother to his public flogging.”

Dean risked looking back up at the king, but there was no hope or possibility of mercy on that stony face. He nodded and tried to smile. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He bowed low and left feeling like he’d just escaped a bear trap only to fall into a pit.

He didn’t think he could watch them flog Sammy. But he knew that any hint of disobedience would land them both in prison, or something worse.

Angel, who had managed to come forth from wherever he’d hidden when the commotion had ended, gave Dean a singularly dirty look as he left the throne room. Dean didn’t like that the look was entirely deserved. Douche.

Angel hurried to be close to the throne when the official proceedings were done. “I feel violated, Your Majesty,” he said.

Dean bit his cheek to keep from snorting at that, and quickly left before he had to hear any more.

*****

It was a clear morning. It should have been storming and grey and ominous. Dean hadn’t slept a wink. There was no way into the dungeon, and certainly no way he wasn’t being watched. Gunn had taken him to his private rooms and given him a shot of whisky and told him, “Only stupid people disobey King Giles. You aren’t stupid. Keep it that way.”

Gunn was as close to an ally he would have thought to find in the guards, and Dean could clearly see that wasn’t an option. So he stayed up all night, trying to come up with a brilliant plan, which ended up mostly consisting of drinking whisky and hoping that would inspire a brilliant plan.

Castiel was the guard on Sam’s cell – the most straight-laced guard in the entire palace. A popular choice for internal discipline problems because he never tried to be buddies with anyone.

“Good morning, Dean,” he said in his gruff monotone, standing at a proper parade rest outside the barred door. “Are you here to escort Sam to his punishment?”

“No, I’m picking flowers. Open it up.”

Cas narrowed his eyes, said, “I am aware of sarcasm,” but opened the door.

Sam sat on the crude wooden bench that was the cell’s only furnishing, his shirt off and in his hands already. He looked up at Dean with a self-deprecating smile. “I really screwed up this time.”

“Stop with the puppy looks. It’s not helping.”

Sam nodded and reached out. Dean clasped his hand hard and helped him stand. They stepped maybe a little closer together than necessary, a silent, covert moment of mutual concern and comfort before another guard arrived and they formed up to march to the courtyard.

Dean had seen floggings before. He’d dragged would-be thieves to them himself, more than once. This morning, however, the stone pillory and courtyard all seemed so much larger than ever before, and the usual crowd of bored townspeople larger and more menacing.

Sam walked with a relaxed gait, and if he was faking, he was doing a good job of it. Still Dean felt his fingernails dig into his palms.

King Giles was watching from the comfort of his own parlor, which overlooked the courtyard. Dean knew which window. He avoided glancing at it. He had to hold his brother’s arm while Cas cuffed him to the post. He felt Sam’s hitched breath, saw his grim, brave face. Sam nodded and jerked his head to the side, just a little, letting Dean know he could step back now. It took everything in him to do so.

Gunn approached, stripped to the waist the same as Sam, unrolling the bullwhip and checking its length. He did glance up at the king’s window, and then looked to Dean. Dean could see Gunn didn’t want to do this. He looked almost sick.

Then Gunn spoke to him. “His Majesty asked that you deliver the strokes. Twenty.” Gunn held out the whip.

Dean felt his mouth dry. He looked at Sam, at Gunn, back at Cas, up at the windows. Stepping close to Gunn, he spoke under his breath. “Wait a goddamn minute…”

“I tried to get him to change his mind,” Gunn said. “Sam’s my man, my responsibility. It should be me. But the king wants to test your loyalty.” Gunn pressed the braided leather hard against Dean’s unresponsive hand. “And I should tell you, if he’s not happy with how it looks, I’m s’posed to take the whip and deliver forty.”

Dean’s fingers were nerveless, but somehow he took the whip.

Somehow he didn’t smack Gunn in the face with it.

He took all the anger and helplessness he felt and balled it up deep inside with a promise to himself that every stroke that landed on his baby brother’s smooth, muscular back would be repaid tenfold on that sanctimonious asshole they called King.

The first stroke was loud, but Gunn shouted, “Damn it, you know we’re not joking here, Dean! Harder.”

Dean rolled his shoulder, tried not to think, and threw the next shot strong. He heard Sam’s gasp, saw him flinch. The third stroke drew blood, but he couldn’t quite see through the tears.

Up in his parlor, the king smiled and stroked his very good boy. He could see the lust in Wesley’s eyes as he fixated on the pain below. Turning his stroke from gentle to hard, he pulled Wesley down over his lap. “That’s enough, now it’s your turn.” Wesley let out a little whimper of frustration, but let himself be guided. Giles flexed his hand and placed it firmly on the upturned backside. He waited and smacked in time to the strokes below. He always did love a little participation in his spectacles.

*****

Sam hissed as he ran the washcloth shakily over his back, twisting around awkwardly. The water in the bowl was already a deep pink.

“Do you want me to do that for you?”

Sam paused at the sound of Dean’s voice, rough with guilt; he hadn’t heard him come into the room. He was glad that he hadn’t been sent back to the dungeons after his humiliating public punishment, but he wasn’t really ready to speak to his brother yet.

“I’m fine.”

“Sammy...”

Closing his eyes briefly against the pleading tone, Sam rasped, “Just leave me alone. Look, I know that you’re sorry and that you were trying to protect me or whatever, but give me some time.”

“Gunn was going to give you _forty_ Sam, and I just couldn’t...”

“I _know_. I get why you made the choice, but Dean... I would rather have taken a hundred from someone else. I love you more than anything and you beat me in front of all those people. So, please, just leave me be for a while.”

Sam hadn’t turned fully to face him, and Dean’s eyes slid from his tight, angry profile down to the mess of cuts on his back. _He’d_ done that. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.” Sam sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “You need to go and find John... Dad. He needs to know how badly we screwed up.”

Dean cursed despairingly, wondering how things just kept getting worse. Now he had to go break it to their father that the one son he’d managed to keep off the king’s radar was now locked up in the palace dungeon. “This is gonna fuck everything up. He’ll want to come in, guns blazing, before all the plans are finished. Before he has the backup he needs.”

“He’ll _have_ to do that. We don’t know how long Giles will keep Lindsey alive, especially once he figures out who he is.”

“Right,” said Dean tiredly. “And once he finds out about Lindsey and John, it’s only going to be a matter of time before he realizes that we know who Mom was. Who _we_ are.”

They already felt like there was a price on their heads.

*****

Lindsey shivered down in the dank depths of the dungeon. The guards had been rough with him and his clothes were filthy and torn, but at least he was alone.

He could hear other men down there, some in their own cells but many chained in large, communal areas. He blocked out what was being done to them.

He didn’t know what the intention was for him, whether the king would have him tortured or imprisoned for life, or publicly executed. Whatever he decided, it would be bad. Unless Lindsey’s father or brothers could save him, of course. Lindsey tried not to hope too much.

He reserved most of his hope for Spike. He had no idea what would be done to him, but it wouldn’t be good. At the very least, Spike would be forced into his union with Angel and have to live with being terrorized every day.

Helpless, hopeless, unable to think of a single smidge of a plan to escape, Lindsey put his head into his hands and cried.

An indeterminate amount of time later, he heard people descending the steps and he huddled closer to the wall, unsure of who or what was coming. He swiped at his eyes, trying to put on a brave face.

Until he saw who was following the guard.

Caleb smiled at Lindsey’s aghast expression, dressed fully in his priestly garb, including the dog collar.

“Got a visitor,” said the guard in a bored tone. “Spiritual instruction.”

“No,” said Lindsey, shaking his head. “No, take him out of here. I didn’t ask for a priest – and, if I had, it would have been a real one, not someone who gets off on hurting and raping his flock.”

“Not your decision,” shrugged the guard, turning and leaving them to it. After fifteen years down in the dungeons, he’d heard and seen and done everything; he wasn’t interested in Lindsey’s words and, besides, the king had given the order himself.

“Stay away from me,” snarled Lindsey at Caleb, flinching back against the wall as he crouched down, still with that serene and infuriating smile on his face.

“Now, now, that ain’t called for. When we heard what you’d done and where you were, Angel convinced the king to let me in here to... guide you. Wasn’t that magnanimous of him? After you abused his intended and all.”

Lindsey sneered disgustedly. The whole thing was such a crock of shit – and the most fucked up thing about it was that King Giles probably only agreed to Caleb visiting Lindsey because Angel told the _truth_ about what would happen if he did. “I’m the abuser? That’s rich. He’s just jealous because he knows that Spike loves me.”

“Maybe so,” agreed Caleb. “But love ain’t gonna do either of you little sinners any good. After a short while living beneath Angel – in every way – the prince is gonna forget all about his feelings for you. And love won’t save you from the executioner’s blade.”

Lindsey swallowed hard and dropped his eyes.

“Now, why don’t you get on your knees and pray with me, boy?” purred Caleb in his smooth drawl, reaching out a hand to Lindsey.

“Fuck off.”

“Just what kind of an attitude is that?” chided Caleb playfully, unable to keep the smirk off his face. Without warning, his hand shot out and he grabbed a fistful of Lindsey’s hair, dragging him to his knees while he himself stood to his full height. Lindsey cried out, his arms wrenched painfully on account of his wrists being chained to the wall.

Caleb pulled a thick metal crucifix from his back pocket with his free hand and smacked Lindsey hard around the face with it, before depressing a small button that caused a blade to spring out of the base with a loud click. Lindsey gasped in shock and fear, stilling as the weapon trailed down his cheek, leaving a thin line of blood welling to the surface. He looked pleadingly up into Caleb’s eyes as the blade was pressed to his throat.

“Better start praying.”

Wretchedly, Lindsey did as he was told, repeating the words that Caleb told him to and ‘confessing’ to all the dirty little accusations thrown his way. He begged forgiveness for being a filthy whore and for the sin of fornication with men. He gave the details Caleb demanded in order that he achieve absolution.

The only thing he wouldn’t do, even when the blade dug into him and sent a rivulet of blood cascading down his throat, was admit to hurting Spike.

“Damn it, boy! You’re going to _burn_ if you don’t repent.”

Lindsey stared up at him, scared and debased but still defiant when it came to his love for the prince. “I may burn, but it won’t be for that. God doesn’t punish people for loving each other.”

Caleb snorted, a malevolent gleam creeping into his eyes. “Well, maybe you’re right, little brother. But if that’s the case, then I’ll just have to punish you on His behalf, won’t I now?”

Lindsey managed to remain stoically silent as the cross was carved into his cheek, progressing to grunts and gasps and whimpers as he was beaten to the floor. It was only once Caleb had opened his fly and began to hammer home his unique lessons on God’s will that Lindsey began to scream.

His despairing, agonized cries joined the general cacophony of the dungeon, and no-one blinked an eye.

*****

“Sam!” exclaimed Spike in surprise as the guard stepped into his small, isolated room. He’d never understood the point of the whole ‘tallest tower’ malarkey until he’d looked out of the window and almost fainted from vertigo.

While he could fit out of the tauntingly accessible window, the wall was sheer and he’d plummet to death instantly. No-one could come for him, and he couldn’t get out.  
  
At least, he’d _thought_ no-one could come for him.

“I didn’t think they’d let you guard me again!” He smiled, a bright thread of hope twisting its way through his despair.

His smile faded at Sam’s grim expression. “I was escorted up here and there are three guards stationed outside, with several more on the stairs. After the public punishment and forgiveness, the king has to be seen to be merciful about my ‘mistake’, but it’s all for show. He doesn’t trust me a goddamned inch.”

Spike sighed. “And what about Dean?”

Sam stiffened slightly, gaze sliding off to the side. “Don’t know. Giles no doubt trusts his loyalty more than mine after...”

“After what?”

Sam’s jaw ticked and Spike realized suddenly how furious he was, almost vibrating with it. “Your father had him administer the flogging.”

“Dean _beat_ you?!” demanded Spike incredulously.

“Yeah.” Seeing Spike’s expression, he grudgingly said, “It was the best choice. I would have got twice as many lashes if he hadn’t and, besides, we can’t help you or Lindsey if we’re tossed out on the street.”

Spike nodded thoughtfully. “I get it, I guess. Makes sense. But how do you _feel_ about it?” He could imagine being hurt by his family all too well – but he’d never trusted his family with his life, not like Sam did. And Dean was more than his brother.

“I want to kill something,” said Sam, voice deep and dark and dead.

Spike gave an involuntary little shiver. “Something... or someone?”

Sam didn’t answer.

Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly as he looked at the closed door, Spike considered the fact that Sam was in as bad a position as he was in many ways. Trapped. Biting his lip, he said quietly, “You know, I appreciate what you tried to do. What you _did_ do. Being with Lindsey taught me a lot of things.”

“Oh yeah?” replied Sam slightly warily, stepping closer to Spike and also casting his eyes to the door. “Like what?”

Spike lowered his voice, causing Sam to creep even closer. “Like how it feels to be cared about. Like the fact that I hate my family.”

Sam’s eyes widened and he grabbed hold of Spike, pulling him close to the window, far away from the door. “Careful, Sire. If there’s one thing that people will be on the lookout for right now, it’s treason. And you’re walking on thin ice.”

“Just me?” murmured Spike, eyes boring deep into Sam’s. “Tell me that you’re still loyal to my father after what he’s done.”

Sam held his eyes for long moments, but then looked away, swallowing noisily.

“That’s what I thought. Look, without your help, Lindsey’s going to die. I will do anything - _anything_ \- that I can to help you stop that happening. I know that there’s something you haven’t told me – it doesn’t make sense why you and Dean would take such a risk to help Lindsey and me be together – and I don’t care about the secrets. I just want him to be safe. Please, Sam.”

Sam considered him for a moment, taking in his desperate and pleading expression. Spike didn’t have any real power in the castle, not now, but he’d still be an invaluable ally, for information if nothing else. And it would be one less person that he and Dean had to avoid and hide from.

“Do you know how serious this is?” asked Sam quietly. “We’re not talking about running off into the sunset here, or whatever fantasies you and Lindsey concocted. People are gonna die.”

Spike nodded slowly, a fierce burn creeping into his still-blackened eyes. “I know.”


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Dean did not want to see or talk to anybody. He skulked through the guards’ mess hall with a foreboding look and most of the guys cut a clear path for him. He felt isolated and in hell – but at least he had his good friend Whisky to see him through.

So he was downright pissed to see a mug drop onto the table opposite him. He looked up with a scowl only to see Bobby, and if anything that was worse, because he couldn’t be mad with Bobby. He was the closest thing Dean and Sam had to family (at least until very recently), but he was also a special advisor to the king. Dean was seized with contradictory emotions: he wanted to tell Bobby everything and share his burdens, and also keep him out of it, not just because of his position close to the king, but also because he didn’t want Bobby to know just how stupid he and Sam had been.

The best he could manage was a dry cough and, “Hey, Bobby.”

“Well,” Bobby said, leveling a grave look at him, “you’ve been stupid.”

“Gee, that’s a relief,” Dean muttered, “for a second I thought you were going to give me a pep talk.”

“Don’t get me wrong, it was a serious dick move, making you have to whip your own brother, but you must have really pissed in the well to get Giles to come down so hard on you.”

Dean squinted hard at Bobby. “Are you allowed to call something the king did a dick move?”

“He’ll take it as a compliment,” Bobby said, and took a drink of his ale.

Dean looked around, verifying that no-one else was in earshot, and leaned forward, deciding to take a chance. “Bobby, whose side are you on?”

An alarmed expression flashed across Bobby’s features, and Dean cursed his smooth-talking golden tongue.

Bobby peered at Dean. “You might want to think carefully before you start talking about ‘sides’. There are no ‘sides’ here.”

“That isn’t what I really meant.”

“Really.”

Dean looked away from the force of that scornful gaze. “I’m just asking… why do you work here, Bobby? What do you believe in?”

“Precious few people on this earth get to do work that has shit to do with what they believe in,” Bobby said quietly. “Best we can hope for is to protect our own, and maybe do a little good for someone else along the way.” Bobby shifted uncomfortably. “Now you’ve got me all maudlin. Look, I just came to tell you – whatever you did, if you get an inkling to do something like it again, come talk to me first, will ya? I can’t be always checking up on ya.”

Dean watched Bobby get up. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“Meh,” Bobby said, waving dismissively, but he looked back once at Dean as he walked away, clearly concerned.

Dean began to feel that they weren’t completely alone, after all.

*****

Spike felt completely alone. Since his all-too brief interview with Sam, there hadn’t been so much as a noise from the other side of the thick, heavily guarded door. He tried to take heart that Sam was out there, finding out what he could about Lindsey’s state.

Worrying about Lindsey was his chief occupation – that and giving himself vertigo at the window. He knew how his family dealt with someone they supposedly loved – how much worse was it for poor Lindsey?

After so much silence, the door opening sounded like a gunshot. King Giles entered and looked disdainfully around the small room.

Spike thought that perhaps loneliness wasn’t all that bad. “Where are the guards?” he asked.

Giles inspected the sparse furnishings like Spike was somehow to blame for their poor placement. “Not that it’s any concern of yours, but they are as always outside.”

“I want one of them in here.”

Giles turned at last to look at Spike, an amused look on his face. “I’m curious what makes you think you can make demands?”

“I thought we could at least be honest, now, seeing as you’ve made your plans for me so perfectly clear.”

“Tell me,” Giles put his hands on his hips, somehow taking up half the small room. “Tell me what my plans for you are.”

“You want me to keep my mouth shut.” Spike fought hard to keep from looking down, but he failed. “Bend over for that Angel git.”

“Just that? I seem to be very wasteful.”

Spike clenched his fists and raised his chin. “If you’re here to get your rocks off beating me, go ahead and get on with it. I’m not going to play this game where I try to figure out what to say to stop you, because there is no stopping you. I’m done pretending.”

Giles turned away from Spike to face the room’s one finer piece of furniture, the bed. “Do you like the bed?”

Spike blinked in confusion. “What?”

“The bed. I had your mother’s old feather mattress brought up. Are you enjoying it?”

His father was trying to keep him on his back foot – it was working. Spike cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s all right.”

“Good. I hate a hard mattress. Get undressed.”

Spike took a step back. “Dad…?”

Giles advanced on him, a knife-edge smile on his face. “You wanted to cut to the chase. I’m obliging you. Let me continue to be perfectly clear. You’re no longer a virgin and I can do whatever I want with you.”

Spike felt the rough stone wall at his back. The gold braid on Giles’ jacket pressed into his chest. “And you did rather foolishly tell me you would do _anything_ to protect your little paramour in the dungeon.”

“You’re my father,” Spike said, pressing as far back into the wall as he could.

“Yes, and my son has a firm grasp of the obvious.” Giles grabbed Spike by the arms and pushed his groin forward against him.

Spike hadn’t wanted to believe this was possible, but he knew with cold dread that it had been coming. His body felt made out of lead and water. He trembled and couldn’t move. “Don’t,” he said, barely a whisper.

“Or what? You’ll run away from home?” Giles pressed his erection into his son one more time and then threw him at the bed, where he landed sprawled. “Don’t try my patience, or little Lindsey will be getting far worse than you.”

Spike scrambled over the bed, dropping behind it for protection. “Leave him out of this. He’s done nothing. If you were a decent man, you’d just let him go.”

Giles tilted his head. “I thought we weren’t pretending anymore.”

“I will _never_ let you touch me like that.”

“Then Lindsey will not live through the night.”

Spike gathered fistfuls of bedding, shaking with impotent rage. “I tried to be a good son.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Just let me… let me be a good son for you. Dad. Please.” Spike looked down at his hands, shaking his head. “I’ll marry Angel. I’ll be more respectful. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll… I’ll be good.”

He heard the soft sound of his father’s coat falling on the floor, and the snick of buckles being undone. “You never knew the meaning of the word. You were never remotely obedient, intelligent, or resourceful. Not a thing like Wesley. It’s my fault, I coddled you.” More fabric fell.

Spike stood and backed away. “I can try harder. I’ll make you proud of me. Somehow. Just don’t do this.”

Giles stood in nothing but his shirt, and he was unlacing that. “You can undress now or I will give the guards the order to have Lindsey executed. Those are the only choices. It’s time you stopped trying to cheat your way out of every test.”

Spike could see the truth in his father’s eyes. He raised his bloodless fingers to his collar buttons and, fumbling, began to undress. He closed his eyes. “Don’t… don’t be like Angel.”

“Angel is a brute,” Giles said. “A brainless thug. It’s a wonder that brother of his could feel you at all; he must have been fucked wider than the castle moat.”

Spike didn’t want to look but he couldn’t stop himself from glancing up as his father approached, his shirt hanging loose and doing nothing to conceal his heavy cock. Spike cringed and half turned away, suddenly unable to work the simplest button. Giles took hold of his hand, gently, and eased Spike’s shirt down his shoulders. “I’ll be nothing like Angel.” He placed a dry kiss behind Spike’s ear. “I’ll be so much worse.”

Spike shivered. He put his hands on his father, trying to put some distance between them. “I can’t…”

“William?” Giles took hold of Spike’s chin and made him meet his gaze for one long silent second before speaking further. “One more tedious outburst like that and I will make you have to beg for my cock on your knees in front of the entire court to save that little slut of yours. Do you understand?”

Tears were flowing freely now. Spike’s teeth almost chattered, he was shaking so much. He didn’t trust himself to speak and only nodded.

Giles picked up Spike’s hands and guided them to the front of his trousers. Woodenly, Spike let himself be led like a puppet through undressing. His father’s hands were smooth and slightly calloused, gliding over every part of him. He smelled of books and study and the incense they burned in the royal closets to keep away moths. He smelled like Spike’s father, and he was sliding the head of his dick up and down Spike’s thigh while his hands pulled Spike closer. His lips were slightly cold, awfully wet and open against Spike’s, tongue stabbing in, tasting wrong.

Giles broke the kiss after what felt like hours and hours of painfully wrong intimacy. He gently pushed Spike toward the bed. “On your back,” he said, “and keep your eyes open.”

Spike’s cheeks burned. He wanted desperately to close his eyes – to do anything to make some of the horror disappear. Giles stood at the foot of the bed, gently jacking himself. Spike obeyed – just shut down his brain a bit and lay down. He stared at the ceiling. The mattress depressed as Giles climbed onto it. His shadow fell over Spike first, then his face intruded on his vision. “Look down here. Look at my dick.” When Spike didn’t react right away, Giles took hold of his hair and harshly pulled him forward so he had no choice. “You should be fairly impressed – this is where you came from. Touch it.” Fingers tightened in Spike’s hair and shook his head. “Touch it.” He reached slowly and was shaken again. His fingertips brushed hot flesh, the thin, silken skin moving easily over the hard core. “Very good. Hold it. Do like I’m doing. Good. Tighter. Gooood boy. I think that may very well be the first thing you’ve done right in your life.”

Spike watched the plumy head peeking and retracting from the foreskin, watched his pale fingers contrast with the angry flesh. He tried very hard not to understand what he saw. It was just color – red and white.

“Now take two fingers from your other hand and put them in your mouth and suck on them.” His fingers were cold and felt like someone else’s. Giles guided his head back and forth in a pumping motion mirroring Spike’s hand on his cock. “Get them good and wet. You’re going to open yourself for me.”

Giles knew what he was doing. He wouldn’t let Spike retreat into his mind, wouldn’t let him deny that he was an active participant in his own degradation. “Look at you, fucking yourself like a whore. Look at that greedy little arse.”

Giles made him guide his cock in with both hands, holding himself still while Spike impaled himself. It was hard – he wasn’t as stretched as he’d thought, the head felt huge and slipped off of him as he lifted his hips.

“I can’t do it. It just won’t… I can’t.”

Giles’ face was inches above Spike’s, but he spoke like he was behind his desk. “There’s your problem. Whenever something gets difficult, you give up.”

Disbelief was too polite a word for the emotion raging in Spike as he stared up at his impassive father. Giles just waited, patient as virtue.

“I’ll kill you,” Spike said. “Some day I will kill you for this. And I won’t give up.”

“Don’t be tiresome. And I haven’t said you could stop.”

Spike trembled all over with rage. Giles was still over him, his lips slightly parted, slightly curled in a smile, seemingly able to hold himself like that forever, no fatigue in his strong frame. His eyes found a wrinkle behind Giles ear, a small mark of age, and he focused on that while his fingers closed once again around his father’s cock and he pushed it home with brutal force. Giles’ mouth parted wider, teeth showing, and he pressed his full body weight down. “Good boy.”

*****

Dean found Sam in the dungeon, Lindsey clinging to him like a limpet, crying against his shoulder. Sam glared like it was all Dean’s fault. Maybe it was. Dean pushed that thought away.

“Dry your eyes, kids. I think we just might have a chance,” Dean said.

Sam pursed his lips, eyes hard.

Dean sighed. “What’s that look for? I just found us a possible ally. A strong one.”

Lindsey lifted his head from Sam’s shoulder and wiped his eyes. “The simple fact that we’re fucked?” he offered. “Sam just told me he’s being followed. There are guards on the guards, and I don’t know how long I can survive down here.”

“Well, obviously, our plan is to get you out first. Sam – work with me, here. We can’t just… wallow in this.”

Sam stood. “You think I’m wallowing?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“How about the way you can’t look at me anymore?” Sam stepped really close to Dean, lowering his voice. “I’m trying to deal, Dean. And I’ve been visiting two freaked out, captive men. What have you been doing?”

Dean clenched his jaw. “You’re surrounded by guards all the time – work on them. Find out who’s most sympathetic, most likely to turn a blind eye. See if you can get hold of the shift rotations for this cell. I’m going to work on Bobby.”

“Bobby?”

“He knows stuff. Lots of stuff. He might help us.”

Sam looked like he was going to argue – maybe bring up the valid point that Bobby worked for the king – but he nodded tersely. “All right. See you back in our room.”

Dean felt the ‘go away now’ vibe like a physical blow, but he just nodded, too, and left.

*****

Giles stood in the light from the window, fastening his trousers. “Your brother will want to visit you as well. He’s been very patient, and we should reward that. Don’t be unduly worried – it’ll be over quickly. He’s young.”

Spike stared up at the ceiling. He felt a prickling filth all over his body, seeping in from the too-soft sheet below him, but he didn’t move. He was waiting for his father to leave, concentrating on not moving, ignoring the itch of liquid dripping from his body.

“It’s nice, being up here, away from everything,” Giles said, smoothing down the front of his jacket. “Pity the climb takes so long.” He patted Spike’s ankle. “You made excellent progress today, my boy.

The sound of praise, so long sought and denied, hit him like a needle through his heart. Spike lost the battle to be impassive and turned away, curling on his side. He felt hot tears on his cheeks as Giles called for the guard to let him out.

He vowed they’d be the last he ever cried over his father.

*****

“Boy, you are gonna be the death of me.”

“I’m sorry, Bobby,” said Dean genuinely, biting his lip at the man’s horrified expression and exasperated tone.

He’d meant to subtly feel the older man out, to see what information he could get and ascertain what it would be safe to ask. He’d meant to be stealthy and _smart_.

So, of course, what he’d actually done was blurt out the entire sorry story, barely pausing for breath and rounding off by practically begging Bobby for help. As if that wasn’t shameful enough, he even felt the prickling of hopeless tears behind his eyes.

“Well, come on, now. It ain’t that bad,” huffed Bobby uncomfortably, giving him an awkward pat on the shoulder. He wanted to call the boy an idjit – hell, he _was_ an idjit, for bringing Lindsey to the castle – but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him and his brother. Brother _s_. He remembered the whole sad affair with the king’s sister, although he hadn’t been privy to most of the details and certainly not to the murderous end to that tale – even if he had always had unanswered questions about the Winchester boys.

It was frankly a shock that their father was still alive. Bobby wondered what kind of a man he was; he understood the need to back off in the hopes of keeping his sons alive – but he didn’t think he’d have made that choice himself. Hell, Sam and Dean weren’t even his own and he knew he’d die to save them.

Which was a darned good job, really, since that was probably what would happen in the very near future.

“I’m an advisor to the king.”

“I know.”

“Have you any idea what kind of a position this puts me in?!”

“I know, Bobby!” yelled Dean, the look of remorse on his face taking any sting out of his harsh tone.

Bobby sighed, removing his hat and rubbing at his head. His brain was whirring at a mile a minute, trying to figure out what he could do to help the boys. And he would have to help them – soon. They’d made mistakes and Giles was a smart man, cunning. He’d obviously already figured out that something was wrong, and it wouldn’t take him long to put the pieces together, particularly with Wesley undermining Spike and the Winchesters at every turn.

“I’m so sorry. Please don’t turn us in,” pleaded Dean softly, and Bobby looked at him in shock. The kid had clearly mistaken his frustrated silence. “Or lay it all on me. Sam doesn’t have to be –”

Bobby grabbed his shoulder and shook him, somehow making it almost as affectionate as a hug. “Dean. You know me better‘n that, don’t you?”

Dean looked guiltily at his feet. He trusted Bobby, of course he did, but recently he was finding it hard to believe that anything could go his way.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you found your daddy,” Bobby began, although Dean flushed slightly and thought to himself that the older man probably wouldn’t say that if he knew what his daddy had done to him before discovering who he was. “But don’t forget that I’ve had the position a little longer than him. You and Sam are my boys, and I’ll help you. Even if it’s apt to be the biggest shitstorm I’ve ever seen...”

Dean smiled wanly, casting a grateful look at Bobby. “Thank you.”

“Welcome, kid.”

“So... What do we do?”

*****

Sam’s eyes went wide when he heard the commanding sound of Wesley’s voice. He looked down into Lindsey’s own tear-bright orbs.

“Is that the prince?” whispered Lindsey.

“Yeah. Shit.”

“You need to get outta here.” Off Sam’s reluctant look – they both knew that this couldn’t mean anything good for Lindsey – he said, “Go on! You can’t protect me from him anyway and if he finds you with me then you’re gonna end up locked in here too.”

Sam didn’t argue; he was skating on thin goddamned ice as it was. But leaving his little brother there, dashing out of the door and sneaking off in the opposite direction to Wesley’s approach, made him feel like the worst kind of impotent asshole. It didn’t help that he hadn’t been able to find any remotely sympathetic guards through his subtle enquiries – except for perhaps Gunn, and he wasn’t stupid enough to be disloyal to the king when it really mattered.

Basically, they were fucked. And now Wesley had turned up to take a godawful situation and make it infinitely worse. He hoped Dean had had better luck with Bobby.

Lindsey tried to stand to his full height to greet the prince, but the chains weren’t quite long enough. Hunched over as he was, clothes torn and body bruised and battered, he still managed to meet Wesley’s eyes with defiance.

“What do you want?” he demanded, trying to keep his voice strong. Spike had told him everything he needed to know about Wesley – and none of it was good.

“Now, there’s no need to be uncivil,” said Wes as he eyed his surroundings with some distaste. “In point of fact, I’m here to offer you something that I know you want.”

“What’s that?” asked Lindsey warily. He hadn’t missed the way that three large guards had filed in behind the prince, standing impassively and no doubt awaiting their next brutal order.

“I want to take you to see Prince Spike. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Lindsey’s jaw dropped. “You want to _what_? This has to be some kind of trick.”

“Trick? Why I would bother tricking you when I literally hold your life in my hands? I really don’t have time to sit around thinking up games to play with you.” He turned to one of the guards. “Get him unshackled.”

Lindsey didn’t protest as the manacles were being removed from his abused wrists. He _knew_ there was something off about this, but refusing to go with Wesley would be both stupid and pointless. Plus, if there was even a hint of truth in it, then it was worth the risk. Trapped and scared, he’d been sure that he’d never see Spike again.

Of course Wesley had him chained and cuffed again once he was standing, but as he was led from the dungeon, limping and flanked by armed guards, not even his immense sense of foreboding could quash the small ray of hope and joy inside Lindsey.

*****

Dean found himself sneaking around John’s property for the second time and reflected on how ridiculous it was that he couldn’t walk up to his own father’s door.

But he _really_ didn’t want to run into Angel, if he’d made his way back from the castle. Bumping into a guy you’d held down while he was raped was just awkward.

Almost as awkward as trying to have a father-son relationship with a man who’d been boning you while your brothers – one of whom was also your lover – walked in on you...

God, his life sucked.

“Dean. Seriously, boy, were you away the day they taught ‘stealth’ in guard school, or what?”

Dean turned around – again – to be confronted by his father. At least he wasn’t carrying a gun this time. Huffing in annoyance, he said, “I wasn’t _trying_ to be stealthy. I need to speak to you. I just don’t want to run into your asshole step-kids.”

“It’s quiet, so I’m pretty sure they’re not here.”

“What about that bitch of a wife?”

John snorted, fairly sure that he shouldn’t be amused. But, really, it was hard to argue the point. “I’ve been left in peace this morning, so she can’t be here either. Off shopping for the Ceremony of the Consort, no doubt.” His expression darkened as he thought about Angel and the way he intended to subjugate Spike, even if he wasn’t much of a fan of the prince since the revelation that his youngest was in love with him.

“Okay, good. We need to talk strategy – and fast.”

John immediately stood up straighter, face lining with concern. “Why? What did you do?”

“Gee, thanks Dad,” snapped Dean, irritated with the instant assumption that it was his fault.

Ignoring him completely, John’s eyes suddenly widened with belated realization. “Where’s Lindsey?”

Trying to keep his tone even, Dean said, “Really? It’s been nearly three days and you haven’t noticed that he’s not here?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Busy? Jeez. We’re getting beaten and locked up and you’re ‘busy’. Doing what?”

“Securing your throne, jackass. Sending word to loyal ears around the kingdom so that WHEN we get this settled, there isn’t a grand melee of power-grabbing to deal with,” John’s eyes hardened. “Stop stalling and tell me where the fuck Lindsey is.”

Biting his lip on the urge to berate John for not paying enough attention to the one son he’d actually managed to hold onto, Dean sighed and glanced down. “At the castle.”

“ _What_? Where?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck. “Uh... In the dungeon?”

Thinking for a moment that John was going to hit him, or at the very least grab hold of him and shake the answers out like a terrier, Dean stepped back with his hands held up. “Look, I know, okay? I know you said he shouldn’t go to see Spike, but you were outvoted.”

“I was what?” demanded John, almost too surprised to be enraged.

“Outvoted. Get over it,” shrugged Dean, with a little more bravado than he was actually feeling. They were desperate and he needed John to step up to the plate, finally. “Spike was finally free of your dickwad stepson for a few hours because Wes was busy giving him a taste of his own medicine, so we snuck Lindsey in to see him. But another guard found Lindsey in Spike’s room, and it all turned into a massive cluster-fuck, okay? I had to beat Sam, Spike’s locked in a tower and Lindsey’s in the dungeon.”

John shook his head incredulously, trying to absorb all the information. “What the _fuck_ , Dean? You find out you have a brother and within less than a week you’ve got him locked up in the stronghold of a king who would happily kill him for his own entertainment? Not to mention you and your brother if he gets the slightest notion that you know who your mother was? Jesus Christ, boy, are you a complete idiot?”

Not sure why everything in the world was suddenly his fault – and not entirely sure that he wasn’t a complete idiot, as it happened – Dean glared heatedly. “What, because you’ve done a bang-up job of everything, huh? You lost two sons, let another get enslaved while you fucked off playing some –theoretical, as it turns out – revenge game, and when we were finally reunited you –”

He cut himself off and cleared his throat.

“I what?” sneered John. “Took what you were offering up?”

“Sorry,” said Dean, clenching his jaw. He didn’t think what happened was John’s fault, and bringing it up wouldn’t do anyone any good. His cheeks heated slightly.

John sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Listen... It’s... I’m just scared for Lindsey, okay? And you and Sam too. Let’s just concentrate on figuring out how to get him out.”

“Too late for that, Dad,” said Dean quietly, staring off toward the castle. He could barely see the tallest turret where Spike was trapped from this distance. “The chances of rescuing Lindsey and Spike and of all of us getting out alive from beneath the king’s nose? Zero.”

“Spike?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You think Lindsey will leave him behind? They’re in love.” Smiling slightly at John’s annoyed frown, he looked around and then lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “Spike knows his life won’t be worth shit with his father alive – and he’s on our side. Plus, Giles’ chief advisor, who pretty much raised us, knows everything and is willing to help. We have to kill the king.” He looked up and locked eyes with his father. “The time for planning and talking and lurking around in the shadows is over. So. You in?”

*****

Spike tensed as the door to his prison was unlocked and his brother walked through it, but he couldn’t prevent the way that his face lit up with shocked amazement and joy when Lindsey trailed in behind him.

He literally bolted off the window seat, but he stopped short when Wesley hauled Lindsey forward with a sharp tug on the manacles binding his hands. Face falling in dismay, his mind caught up with the situation and he remembered the cruelty that his brother was capable of.

“What’s going on?” he asked warily, resisting the urge to fly over to Lindsey and gather him up in his arms, to soothe his obvious injuries and kiss away the worry on his face.

“Well now,” smiled Wesley brightly, “I thought you and I could finally play.”

Spike’s jaw ticked and he took an involuntary step back, catching himself when his eyes drifted back to Lindsey and his heart began to beat painfully loudly in his chest with fear and indignation at the injustice of his life. “Figures. Though you ought to know that Dad beat you to it.”

He looked down, trying to hide the shame creeping over his face and not wanting to see the sorrow and pity that he knew would be on Lindsey’s face.

Wes gave a slightly put-upon sigh, as if it was a minor – but expected – inconvenience. “Oh, well. I’m sure we can still find ways to make it seem fun and brand new.”

“Right,” nodded Spike, feeling an unwelcome resignation try to overtake him. He shook it off and gave an unconcerned shrug, trying to be the tough man. “So you can play – or try, at least. What do you need him for?”

Wesley followed Spike’s nod, looking back at Lindsey with amusement on his face. Spike really was adorable when he was trying to put on a brave, cocky face, even though he couldn’t really bluff his way out of a paper bag.

“This? Oh. He’s just the collateral.”


	15. Chapter Fourteen

“I can’t believe I’m coming back here,” John sighed. He crouched on top of a section of the wall around the palace grounds, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the area below for any danger. He glanced back at Dean. “I swore I never would.”

Dean was looking at the drop and thinking how he could have just walked in the gate, himself. “If you want to back out, this is a shitty time.”

John grinned, teeth white in the darkness. “Oh hell no,” he said, and dropped swiftly over the edge.

Dean muttered a curse, but there was no way he was going to wuss out and climb down when his old man hadn’t. So with just a little arm-flailing, he followed – no doubt looking bad-ass as he hit the ground. He stood and smiled, brushing himself off. His father looked unimpressed and signaled that the way ahead was clear.

Dean hurried around the corner of the stable, leaning back against the brickwork to signal John to come forward. Silently, in tandem, they made their way to the quiet courtyard outside Bobby’s quarters.

Bobby was sitting on the stoop to his private entrance, whittling. Dean felt palpable relief. They’d made it this far. “Bobby. I’ve brought…”

Bobby looked past Dean and said, “Well, if it isn’t father of the year.”

“You must be Bobby. Nice to see meet, too.”

As Bobby and John regarded each other in stony silence, Dean looked anxiously at all points of entry to the courtyard. “Hey, not to break up the staring contest, but can we move this inside before someone sees us?”

Bobby gave a little half-shrug and sheathed his knife. He took his own sweet time standing and opening the door, which had Dean hopping on his toes, but at last they were inside Bobby’s room, safe from prying eyes.

John was the first to speak. “I didn’t come here to talk. We end this today.”

“Easier said than done,” Bobby said, taking a seat at his desk and pulling a large map off of it to expose other papers underneath. “Fortunately for you, I haven’t been sitting on my butt all day. Here’s the king’s schedule. He’s almost always got at least two guards with him, except when he indulges in one of his ‘special’ meetings.” Bobby made a disgusted face. “Fortunately for our purposes, and unfortunately for any OTHER purpose, he has those regularly. Like clockwork. Today’s will be in just about an hour.” He pointed to an entry on the schedule and pulled another paper out of his stack, which he laid next to it. It was a map. “He’s arranged to have a little private time with the new Prince Consort in this gallery. Two guards, presumably one of them our captain of the guard, will be stationed here, and here.”

John studied the map. “You’re sure about that?”

“Sam was able to be in the room while Gunn was discussing the security arrangements. If one of the guards gets innovative, we’re in trouble, but this is all routine in this madhouse. You should be able to get into the gallery via any of the windows. There’s a way onto the roof right… there.”

“Great,” Dean said, “So we bust in and cap his ass. I’m sure Angel won’t be in any mood to protect him. Holy hell, I think we may actually have a plan.”

“Not so fast.” Bobby sighed heavily and looked over the jumbled mess on his desk. “I’m going to need to prepare some sort of counter-spell to protect you from Giles’ magic.”

“His what?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Magic.” Bobby looked likely to say ‘duh’, like magic was commonplace. Sure, Dean knew Bobby was a sorcerer, and there were always rumors, but you didn’t just expect the king of the land to start doing conjuring tricks.

“You really think he’s been able to hold onto power all this time, while being a major asshole to everyone in reach, without a little help?” Bobby got up and started assembling items from his shelves – a bowl, a bottle, a book. “Yeah, he has black magic on his side, and as far as I know, I’m the only one on our side who can deal with it. So you two are going up to the gallery alone.” He paused and looked from John to Dean. “Think you can manage that?”

Before Dean could make a snide reply, John answered, low and serious. “Just get me to him. I’ve waited twenty years to do the rest.”

*****

Wesley draped an arm over Lindsey in false camaraderie.

“Dad already did that, too,” Spike said, tilting his chin up. “Let Lindsey go. We both know what you’re threatening.”

“Father was content to dangle an axe over your lover’s head. I want Lindsey to SEE you do all those terrible, naughty things to ensure his safety.” Wesley leaned close to Lindsey, stage-whispering, “Do you think you’ll still want him after you’ve seen him so degraded?”

“Always,” Lindsey said, eyes steady on Spike.

“How nauseating,” Wesley said, shaking Lindsey just a bit harder than a friend would.

“Stop that,” Spike said, taking a step forward, fists clenched.

“Or what?” Wesley straightened, intent on Spike now, calm and haughty.

Spike felt his fists shaking, and he knew he was defeated when his only answer was, “Don’t hurt him. Please.” The second he tried to make a move on Wesley, a troop of guards would be through the door and both he and Lindsey would be in an even worse position than they already were.

“That’s the spirit. Now say it again, with your clothes off.”

Spike looked to Lindsey, saw his steady gaze. “It’s all right,” Lindsey said.

“No it isn’t,” Spike said. “He shouldn’t be allowed to make us do this.”

“But I am,” Wesley said, voice rich with amusement. “And the clock is ticking. You don’t want me to take it out on dear Lindsey, do you?” He brushed a lock of hair back from Lindsey’s face. “Trust me, what I’ll do will be far worse than father’s banal promise to execute him.”

Lindsey knocked Wesley’s hand off of him with a twist of his shoulder, unable to do much else in his bindings but glower defiantly.

Spike started undoing his cuffs. “Sure,” he said, “let’s get it over with, shall we?” His jaw worked tightly as he did a bad job looking like he didn’t care. “You’re just a pale shadow of Daddy, you know that, Wesley? But don’t worry.” He let his shirt fall from him and looked up. “I’ll still kill you after I do him.”

“Tsk. Hardly a mark on you,” Wesley said, disappointedly appraising his brother’s torso.

Spike scowled and shoved his pants down as well. Wanting to cover himself, he forced himself not to, instead crossing his arms and glaring at his brother.

“Good,” said Wesley. “Now come do Lindsey.”

Spike’s cocky stance faltered. “What?”

“Well, he can hardly undress himself.”

“You… you said… you wouldn’t hurt him.”

Wesley laughed. “Of course. _I_ am not going to do anything to him. Have you already forgotten all the fun we had with the Winchester brothers?”

Slowly, Spike approached Lindsey. His hands rested on Lindsey’s collar. “Is this all right?” He asked.

“Of course it isn’t,” Wesley snapped. “I want it to be not ‘all right’. So hurry up and do as you’re told.”

Lindsey rolled his lips inward, looking unsure, but he nodded, barely perceptibly. Spike smoothed his loose, torn shirt down his arms.

“That’s it,” Wesley said. “Show me what you do together – all your filth and perversion.”

Spike flushed with shame, as did Lindsey. Wesley savored their humiliation. It would only have been better if they’d been straight boys. (He’d have to try that soon. No wonder his father was so fond of the captain of the guard.) As it was, he knew he was taking their intimacy and turning it against them. He had them kiss, a bloodless little thing, and admonished them to try better. “Pretend you actually care for each other,” he said. Spike’s face got even redder at that, and Wesley had thought it was as red as human skin could get.

“Well, let’s move on from the foreplay, then. Grab his cock.”

Spike’s eyes glittered with the potential for tears. “Wes!”

“What, would you rather I did it?”

Spike’s hands were shaking. Lindsey was breathing hard. Wesley admired his handiwork: it was all so much pay-off for such little effort.

Lindsey was half-hard, and blushing fiercely because of it. Wesley pressed close, his chest against Spike’s arm, lest they forget their audience. “Not very interested, is he?” Wesley asked. “Probably because you’re so useless and spoiled.”

Lindsey’s dick twitched and he was deeply ashamed, afraid of what Spike must think of him.

“We need to move things along,” Wesley said. “Now, should I have you blow him while I fuck you, or have him blow you while I fuck him?”

Spike turned to Wesley. “Not him. Just me. You said you wouldn’t hurt him.”

“Oh right, now is the time when you start offering to do all sorts of filthy things.” Wesley slid between Lindsey and Spike. He put his hands on Spike’s shoulders and pressed down. Wesley gasped in delight as his brother first stiffened, then lowered to his knees. It was hot, having him submit, feeling Lindsey right behind him, all hot with embarrassment. Wesley rubbed a thumb along Spike’s jaw. “Come on, then. Beg.”

*****

They made it, quietly, to a window near the gallery. Dean looked down at the drop to the courtyard. A narrow, slanted roof of clay tiles extended out below them. They’d have to cross it quietly and carefully to get into the room where the king was, deftly avoiding the guards posted at the long gallery’s entrances.

John lowered his binoculars. “Looks clear.” He handed them to Dean. “I’m going first. Whistle if we’re spotted.”

Dean nodded. His father hoisted himself over the window ledge.

Down the corridor, they heard the echo of a door opening and a woman’s laugh. “Shit.” Dean followed his father out onto the ledge before he could be spotted. John glared at him. Dean raised his eyebrows and shrugged. It wasn’t like he’d look unsuspicious hanging around a window with binoculars.

With a frustrated huff, John started crab-walking along the narrow tiled ledge. Dean hung back to loop the binoculars over his neck.

The female voice came closer. “And I said to him, ‘If I can’t see my own son when I want, how will I know he’s safe?’ His majesty thought it _quite_ the joke. But of course, dear Angel…”

The voice stopped directly over Dean’s head. He scrunched down as low as he could below the window-ledge, hoping against all odds that he’d be lucky and wouldn’t be seen. There was a long moment of silence, then he remembered that luck was never on his side – possibly a side-effect of being an incestuous freak, he’d often privately thought – and he looked up.

Darla was leaning out the window, a somewhat angry smile on her face. “Why, hello, boys. What are you doing there?”

“Darla,” growled John. “Shut up. Go on back inside.”

“Uh, Dad?” murmured Dean. “Let’s not antagonize the nice lady within calling distance of the guards.”

Darla leaned her arms on the windowsill and raised a perfect eyebrow at her husband. “My, my, darling... Whatever could you be up to?”

“This doesn’t concern you,” said John sternly. Fuck! He only needed a few minutes and it would all be over.

“Is that so? Because it looks to me that you’re about to do something that will severely jeopardize Angel’s and my newfound standing with the king.”

“Oh, found husband number five already?” asked John acidly.

“Dad!” interrupted Dean. “Can you have a domestic dispute later, please?”

“Right,” grunted John. He pointed at Darla. “Get back inside and keep your mouth shut.”

“Or what?” she challenged, straightening up and narrowing her eyes. She was on the verge of calling the guards and ending this ridiculous little... whatever it was, but it was quite amusing to see her dear husband posturing while practically hanging off a roof. He’d been decent – and absent – enough to keep her happy, but now that he was threatening her plans, she’d happily knock him off to tumble into the courtyard if she could reach.

“Or I’m gonna do this,” said Sam from behind her. She gasped loudly, but didn’t have time to turn before Sam clapped his hand over her mouth and nose, holding tightly while she kicked and struggled until she finally fell unconscious. He laid her down beside the maid she’d been talking to, who he’d subdued first, and looked up at Dean and John’s faces peering in the window. Sam tried very, very hard not to bitch them out for almost getting caught. He’d only just got free from the guards that had been tailing him.

“Oh, so that’s how you shut her up,” mumbled John, sounding mildly impressed, turning his attention back to traversing the precarious roof.

“Sam!” hissed Dean. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” replied Sam, appearing at the window. “Woah. Are _you_ okay?”

Dean frowned down at the courtyard. “I’ll get back to you on that one. We’re heading to the gallery to bust in on Giles now. You speak to Bobby?”

“Yeah, he’s all set. I’m gonna take on the guards at the north entrance, create a distraction; that should only leave you the two stationed outside the gallery to deal with as well as the king – but one of them is Gunn.”

Dean chewed on his lip. “You think he’s willing to die defending Giles?”

Sam shrugged. “Not sure. But I’m not gonna bet your life either way – so be careful.”

Dean smiled and was about to reply, when a small stone hit him on the back of the head with a hefty thunk. “Ow!” he yelped, turning around and glaring at John.

“What the fuck are you boys doin’? We’re kinda busy here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

They both glowered at him, but nodded at one another and got with the program. Sam for one was pretty grateful that John had reminded them that he was there, since he’d been on the verge of giving his brother what could turn out to be a final kiss.

Apparently, they still weren’t moving fast enough for John, though, what with sneaking last furtive longing glances and all like a couple of teenage girls.

“Come on, we don’t have time to be screwing around.”

Dean and Sam shared a look, Dean dropping his brother a wink before admonishing him to be careful and then scooting after his father onto the ledge.

*****

When they burst into the gallery, John smashing feet first through a window (which was somewhat unnecessary, but totally fricking badass, in Dean’s opinion), the scene with which they were confronted was shocking, to say the least.

How Dean had any surprise left in him after seeing the extent of Wesley’s abuse, he didn’t know, but there was something worse about witnessing their revered monarch – the most powerful man in the land – brutally face-fucking his future son-in-law.

(Not that Angel didn’t deserve everything he got after what he’d done to Spike and Lindsey, and Dean made a metal note to kick him while he was down, if at all possible.)

John didn’t let it faze him, in spite of the fact that Angel was his stepson. He’d spent too long training and planning for this day, and all he cared about was taking Giles down like a dog.

Unfortunately, Giles didn’t seem all that fazed either, even though two men had crashed through his window and one of them was believed to have disappeared into exile years ago. Casually shoving Angel away from him so that he sprawled on the floor, immediately crawling away, he turned to face them both. His eyes barely flickered to the guns they both had leveled on him.

“John Winchester... Well, this is a surprise. Although I suppose that I knew you’d turn up again one day, like a bad penny.”

“That’s right, I’m back,” said John. “And imagine my surprise to find my sons right here in the palace, serving yours.” He cast a disgusted glance at Angel. “And my stepson, servicing you.”

“Oh, you’re married to the lovely Darla,” smiled the king. “A woman of many talents. Sorry to tell you that I’m probably rather closer to her than you’d like – but, then again, perhaps it’s a fitting payback for you violating my divine sister.”

John’s lip curled in distaste. The sick bastard had a taste for his own family – and that had included Mary. Fortunately, she’d always been able to evade his unwelcome attentions.

“You killed her,” he hissed, voice trembling slightly as all the old hurt and rage came flooding back. When Giles did nothing more than smirk in response, John squeezed the trigger.

Giles casually flicked his wrist and the bullet went wide – but only just. He frowned deeply as he felt the air from the projectile and heard the whistle of a far-too-close shave.

“What on earth...?”

John bared his teeth in a vicious smile and took aim. “What’s the matter, Your Majesty? Mojo a little off?”

“Not that off,” replied Giles with a snarl, sending out a pulse of power that – while weaker than would normally be the case – knocked the gun straight out of John’s hand. All too aware that he’d used up most of what he had left and that someone – it had to be bloody Bobby Singer; no-one else had the juice – was blocking him from drawing on new power, he shocked both Dean and John by flinging himself toward the older hunter with surprising speed and strength.

As John and Giles crashed to the floor, Dean tracked them with his gun, seeing if he had an opportunity to fire without hitting his father. If not, he had a knife strapped to his thigh in a sheath, and he was more than prepared to use it.

John and the king fought violently, throwing powerful and dirty punches as they rolled across the flagstone floor. John felt two of his ribs crack beneath a hammer-like fist, and he retaliated by plowing his knuckles into Giles’ nose hard enough to shatter the bone with a satisfying crunch. They elbowed and head-butted and kicked, breaking each other’s holds and launching immediately into new attacks with shocking brutality. They were fairly evenly matched in height and weight, and although John had spent years on the road, Giles had never stopped training to fight. When you were a cruel and hateful man, you couldn’t afford to let your guard down.

At the seeming disadvantage for a moment, on his back beneath Giles’ weight, John saw Dean’s stance and took the opportunity to shove the king up as hard and high as he could, giving his son a clear shot.

Dean leveled his gun at the king’s head, his finger twitched, and then –

“Shit!” he yelped as Angel barreled into his side, knocking him sprawling and sending the gun skittering off into a corner.

“Well, hell,” said John, blood staining his teeth. Bucking Giles off him with a forceful motion and sending him flying over his head, he yanked his knife out of his belt. “Guess I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

*****

Bobby was engrossed in his chanting, steadily feeding blessed herbs into the burning bowl on the altar before him, trying to tune out the smell of charred cat bones.

He could feel Giles pushing back against his binding spell and he gritted his teeth against the unpleasant sensation of being tugged and pushed from the inside. It was as if the king was knocking against the walls inside his mind. He was one strong sonofabitch – had to be, to have illegitimately achieved the iron rule he maintained over the kingdom – but he hadn’t devoted his life to study of the dark arts, and more specifically how to counteract them. Bobby knew that he could ward off Giles’ magic long enough for John and Dean to assassinate him – assuming that their luck held.

The thought of luck had barely presented itself for a second before Bobby’s door crashed inwards to reveal Caleb standing there in his full priest’s garb, grinning maniacally.

“Well, well, if it ain’t the resident sorcerer. I just found my mama in a dead faint upstairs and guessed somethin’ hinky was going down. Knew just where to look to find out what, too.”

Bobby looked up from his ingredients, trying to picture invisible ropes binding the king and retain control while he reached for his weapon. He didn’t know whether or not he’d have the strength to keep up the spell while also fighting off the preacher.

Caleb linked his hands together and crunched his knuckles, and with a sinking feeling Bobby observed the dark crackle of demonic magic sparking over his skin. Aw, Jesus, was everyone in this place practicing the forbidden arts these days…?

“Balls...”

*****

“Please,” said Spike through gritted teeth. It wasn’t even close to the begging that Wesley had demanded, but it was the best he could muster. Besides, now that he was on his knees, his brother seemed keen to get on with the action.

“Spike, don’t,” pleaded Lindsey as the prince reached for Wesley’s pants with shaking hands.

“Shut up,” snapped Wes dismissively. He grabbed hold of the chains fastening Lindsey’s hands together. “Spike? Keep going. Your pretty little lover is going to see what a bitch you are, one way or another. You don’t want me to hurt him too, do you?”

“Spike, please! It’s not worth it,” insisted Lindsey. He wanted so badly to hurt Wesley, bound or not, but he didn’t know what the prince or the guards stationed outside the room might do to Spike.

“It is,” said Spike softly, looking at Lindsey and observing all the marks of abuse on his body. He had no idea what Sam and Dean were planning, but he knew they were going to kill his father – or die trying. If they succeeded – and he had to believe they would – then he would be free. All he had to do was keep Lindsey safe until then.

“God, you two are nauseating.” Wes rolled his eyes, grabbing tight hold of Spike’s hair. “Just get on and do what you’ve been told, for once. And you,” he added, shooting a warning glare at Lindsey, “keep your mouth shut, unless you’d like to make yourself useful and join in?”

Lindsey glared at Wesley with seething hatred, but snapped his mouth closed. He couldn’t bear to see Spike debased and hurt, but he had to be smart. Desperately, he tried to think of a way of taking the younger prince down that wouldn’t immediately result in guards bearing down on them.

“Come on now, darling,” purred Wes with false affection, stroking his fingers down Spike’s face with one hand while he pulled his cock free with the other. “I haven’t got all day.”

Eyes closed, shame dusting his cheeks red, Spike leaned forward and licked over the head. He tried to detach himself, wondering how an act could feel so wrong and disgusting with one person and so amazing with another. The one night he’d spent with Lindsey had been the best of his life and he resented that Angel and his own father and brother kept taking what was only meant to be given to the person he loved.

For a few minutes, Wesley let him take the lead, enjoying Spike being such a willing participant in his own humiliation. He passively stood there, watching as Spike’s head bobbed back and forth, wet mouth slicking up his dick. When Spike gagged, Wes’ fingers tightened excruciatingly in his hair and he held him still, fucking forward even as he choked.

Wesley heard a sound of distress from Lindsey, and he could see his hands clenching impotently into fists. Smiling, he held Spike steady for a few more seconds before allowing him to breathe.

After that, he just grabbed hold of his head with both hands and brutally fucked his mouth, relishing the tears leaking from his eyes and the way that he struggled for air. When Lindsey went to say something, and potentially even try to stop him, Wes shot him a dark look full of dire warning.

Wesley was getting close, thrusting in a hard, erratic rhythm that thoroughly abused Spike’s throat, when he abruptly stopped, shoving Spike away from him so hard that he fell back on his haunches.

Dazed, Spike shook his head, fighting the gorge rising with him and shuddering with lingering revulsion. “What...?”

Wes turned to Lindsey. “Your turn.”

“No!” yelled Spike hoarsely as Lindsey just stared at Wesley, wide-eyed.

Wes sighed, then suddenly punched Lindsey hard across the jaw, the shock and pain felling him to the floor in a heap.

Spike scooted over to where Lindsey was, touching his face. He glared fiercely back up at his brother. “What the fuck are you doing?! I did what you wanted! You said you wouldn’t hurt him!”

Laughing, Wesley casually shoved Spike out of the way with his foot before kicking Lindsey hard in the ribs. “You really don’t get it, do you? It’s almost endearing how you keep expecting people to keep their word to you, no matter that all evidence and experience points to the contrary.”

“Don’t touch him,” growled Spike. “I’m warning you.”

“Oh, are you?” smiled Wes nastily. “And what exactly are you going to do?” he asked as reached down and wrapped his hand around Lindsey’s neck, hauling him up onto his knees.

Just then, a siren began to sound. It was the emergency signal of the guards, so rarely used that at first neither of the princes recognized it.

But all the boys recognized the sound of thundering feet, retreating down the spiral stone staircase to rush to the aid of their fellow guards. All of the men stationed outside the cell had taken off in a panic, assuming that it was more important to dash to the site of the emergency than to watch over the princes. After all, the prisoner they’d escorted was chained up, so what was the worst that could happen?

Lindsey and Spike locked eyes, disbelieving that they’d finally been cut a break, and wondering what the hell was happening elsewhere in the palace.

They didn’t intend to waste the opportunity.

Wesley didn’t quite realize how much trouble he was in until both Spike and Lindsey jumped to their feet simultaneously, standing shoulder to shoulder and facing him.

“Uh-oh, little brother,” snarled Spike, eyes sparking dangerously. “Looks like the cavalry’s riding off in the other direction.”

Fear showed on Wes’ face for a split second before his expression hardened and he stood tall, squaring his shoulders. “So what? They’ll be back – and I hardly think that you’re brave enough to face whatever Father will do to you if anything happens to me.”

“You’re assuming that dear old Dad’s still gonna be in charge. How do you know the alarm wasn’t raised because someone assassinated the bastard?” asked Spike, and the smile on his face was chilling. Wesley realized that perhaps he’d misjudged just how far his brother could be pushed.

Making a split-second decision, never one to pass up even a sliver of an advantage, Wesley lunged forwards and snatched hold of Lindsey’s chains, dragging him close. He was the weak link – both because he was bound and because Spike wanted to protect him at all costs.

Lindsey immediately began to struggle, driving an elbow back into Wesley’s gut, but he froze as he suddenly found a knife at his throat. He should have known that the prince would be armed.

“Let him go,” demanded Spike.

“No. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to walk over to the door – and you’re going to let me leave. Then I’ll release your little fucktoy. It’s a good deal, Spike – you’ll get to play with him for however long it takes before the guards come back to tow him to the dungeon.”

Spike looked at them, desperately weighing his options. He was so damned angry that he could barely see straight, red clouding his vision. Calculating the options, he noticed that Wesley and Lindsey would have to pass right in front of the window on their path to the door.

He looked directly into Lindsey’s eyes. He couldn’t convey any semblance of a plan, but he could silently ask for Lindsey’s trust.

Lindsey stared back at him, neck straining as he tried to lean away from the blade already drawing beads of blood at his throat. Unable to give any other indication that he had complete faith in Spike, he just gave a small smile and a practically imperceptible nod.

“Okay, go,” said Spike. “Slowly.”

As Wesley warily circled toward the door, sticking close to the wall, Spike kept pace with him and subtly drew closer.

“You know, Wes... I’d have let it go, what you did to me. You’re sick, and Dad made you that way.”

“How decent of you,” sneered Wesley, eyes flicking to the door and back, knife pressing more deeply into Lindsey’s vulnerable skin.

“But you promised me you wouldn’t hurt Lindsey, and then you did.” His eyes hardened even further, all his bottled-up rage and animosity infusing him. “Big mistake.”

As Spike started toward them, Lindsey twisted sharply in Wesley’s grip, startling him enough to loosen his hold, even though it cost Lindsey a deep gash trailing over his neck and collarbone.

Wes barely had time to register what was happening before Spike barreled into him, giving him a forceful shove. Shouting out, Wesley was propelled backwards, the backs of his knees smacking hard against the narrow window seat and sending him sprawling.

Wes screamed as his upper body hit thin air and he saw sky above him. Desperately, he fumbled to grab hold of the edge of the window and haul himself back inside. But before he could get a good grip, his legs were lifted and pushed from the inside and he found himself tumbling through the air.

Lindsey and Spike watched his fall, hands linked together. It was a long way down.

Spike turned to Lindsey, completely dispassionate about the fact that his brother had just hurtled to his death. Tearing off a strip of his shirt, he used it as a makeshift bandage on his lover’s bleeding throat.

“Spike... What the hell is happening?”

Spike leaned forward and kissed him, hands cupping his face to pull him in close.

“I don’t know. But I think we should go find out.”


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Giles panted, waiting half-crouched for John to strike. A thin trail of blood ran down his cheek. John circled carefully, knowing that Giles would be as deadly as a cornered dog, but he could feel the momentum on his side. “Not so cocky without your magic, are you?”

Giles wiped the blood as it trickled onto his lip. “Why don’t you come here and find out?”

“With pleasure.” John flipped his grip on the knife so it was held back against his forearm and drove forward, slashing up at Giles’s face.

And a shock hit him, vibrating his arm from the bone out, numbing him. John dropped the knife from nerveless fingers and gasped. Giles straightened fully. Tiny sparks flashed across his irises. His mouth lifted in a cruel smile. “I think you’re right, I do feel more cocky now.” And with a snarl he threw his hands forward, pushing a pulse of energy into John’s chest.

John blinked, his vision graying, and tried to call out; he had to warn Dean that Giles had his magic back… But Dean was so far away – he and Angel were fighting by the windows, their figures silhouetted by the setting sun outside. He saw Dean deliver an excellent back-fist to Angel’s smug nose, and felt a spark of pride before his world tilted. He was shaken. Giles lifted him by his shirt front, his hateful face so close he could see every pore and drop of sweat. “And now,” Giles said, adjusting his grip on John’s neck, “it’s time to end your troublesome life.”

*****

Spike and Lindsey didn’t run into any guards coming down the stairs, which was a relief but also slightly worrying. When they emerged into the main corridor on the second floor of the castle, they saw guards, two holding onto a struggling Sam, the captain of the guard, Gunn, and his right-hand man, Cas, facing them.

“I told you,” Sam said, “They were plotting against the king.”

“All the guards at the north gate? All at once?”

“It’s their word against mine.”

Gunn looked unimpressed. “Cas, escort Sam back to the barracks and let’s see what’s happening in the gallery.”

Spike looked dumbfounded for a second, and so it surprised even Lindsey when he strode forward and shouted, “Guards!”

All heads swiveled. Despite his disheveled, beaten appearance, Spike walked up to them like nothing was remiss. “I thought some of you blokes were supposed to be guarding me. Protecting me. What the bloody hell? I had to come all the way down here just to find you.”

Gunn, like everyone else in the room, knew that the guards had not been watching Spike’s room in the tower to “protect” him, and the sheer absurdity completely pole-axed him.

Sam managed to shoulder off the guards holding him, as they were a bit shocked, too. “He’s right. Look, something’s not right – guards aren’t where they are supposed to be. Anyone could be a suspect. Cas, I think we should review the duty roster and see who should be protecting the prince today.”

Cas nodded curtly, his habitual expression of mild confusion made him seem unaffected by the chaos around him. “Clarification would be helpful.”

“What? Wait.” Gunn held out his arms. “Did everyone just turn stupid? The king called. From the gallery. For help. And Sam doesn’t want us to go there.”

“Dean’s with the king. Everything’s fine,” Sam said.

As if to prove him wrong, just at that moment a crash, like a large wooden chest had slammed into a stone wall and splintered, sounded from the direction of the king’s gallery.

Gunn folded his arms and tilted his head. Sam cleared his throat.

“That does sound like a problem,” Cas said.

Spike put his hands on his hips. “Damn it, I’m the prince, and I say all of you are staying right here until I’m satisfied you know what you’re supposed to be doing.”

Gunn frowned, unsure he should point out that Prince Spike was really more of a prisoner than a person to be giving orders, when his eyes landed on Lindsey. “What the hell is HE doing up here?”

*****

Dean didn’t notice the tide turning against his father as he struggled with Angel. He managed to get a good punch in and a kick to the stomach, but the guy kept coming. Angel pinned Dean and they worked, muscle against muscle, struggling for dominance. Dean pushed Angel’s hands back, trying to put pressure on the wrists so he’d let go. Angel’s face was contorted with effort and red over Dean. “Why the fuck,” Dean said, and jammed his knee into Angel’s crotch, causing him to loosen his hold. Dean rolled them over so he was on top of Angel now. “Are you even protecting this asshole? He fucking raped you.”

Angel lifted his hips, grinding against Dean. “It’s all one big happy circle of fuck in this castle, pretty boy. Thought you knew that.”

Dean pulled back, and Angel surged forward, thinking he’d created a mental distraction to take an advantage, but Dean was only winding up; his fist connected hard with Angel’s jaw. Dean jumped to his feet and back. Angel was slow to get up, rubbing his jaw.

“Dean!” John cried, weakly, and Dean turned to see Giles grab his father by the throat.

“Aw shit,” Dean said and ran toward him, only to be tripped up by Angel again.

The doors to the chamber burst open, a confusion of noises and shouts and boots. “Dean!” Sam cried.

Dean twisted around under the bulk of Angel, wondering why everyone thought calling his name out was at all useful in these situations.

Sam struggled against the guards who held him, Spike struggled to get through. Lindsey was being held by a guard as well. All looked hopeless.

A green light had been growing steadily in the pre-dawn sky outside the broken window, but no-one had noticed it, until now it grew almost blinding and Lorne stepped into the room, dressed in a stunning suit of magenta silk, a cocktail glass in one hand. He sighed, eyes on Giles and John. “I see it’s up to me, then. Here’s a little help, first, for Bobby.” He snapped his fingers.

Down in his quarters, locked in battle with Caleb, weakening, Bobby suddenly felt a surge of strength, clean and pure like a belt of the best whisky. Not one to waste time wondering where the hell that had come from, he instead walked right through the field of sparking electricity that had separated him from Caleb and punched him squarely in the face, sending him through the wooden table. He then stomped on the crooked priest as he tried to get up and felt his neck crack satisfyingly under his boot. “That’s what you get for interrupting your elders,” he said, and stepped over the body. He picked up his cap, which had fallen off during the struggle, and set it firmly on his head. “Now let’s see what the hell I missed.” He walked forward out of the room, feeling with his mind for the other battle overhead.

Giles felt himself cut off from his power again. After expending so much, the absence was physically draining. He gasped and slumped. John’s eyes snapped to full attention and he shoved Giles off of him. The king went sprawling on the floor. John picked up his knife again, grimaced, and stabbed the king through the heart.

At about that time, Dean managed to land another hard punch and Angel dropped to the floor, unconscious. Dean jumped up, said, “Yeah! Did you see that?” And then looked at the guards with drawn swords staring past him, at their king lying, gasping out his last while gouts of blood poured around the knife handle in his chest.

Giles raised one hand toward Gunn, his mouth opened and closed, and then froze.

Gunn stepped forward, sword pointed at John. John wearily got to his feet. Everyone was silent.

And so, everyone jumped a little when Gunn dropped his sword and it rang against the stone floor. “Oh no,” he said, a quiet deadpan, “We were too late.”

John stared at Gunn a moment, and then the corner of his lip jerked twice and then became a smile. He nodded, and Gunn nodded solemnly back.

“Sir?” Asked one of the other guards.

Gunn turned to address them. “We were too late. Someone has assassinated the king and we may never know who did it.”

“But he’s standing right there,” Cas said.

Gunn walked up to Cas, lowering his voice. “No. We were too late.”

Cas looked like he was going to argue, but then shook his head and awkwardly patted Gunn’s shoulder. “I am sorry,” he said.

Spike, who had been standing in silent shock with most of the others, took this opportunity to elbow the guard holding on to him and burst forward into the scene. “I’m king now! Yeah? He’s finally dead. I’m king.” Spike hopped a bit on his toes. “Me, yeah? Oh, uh, Wes had a bit of an accident. He fell. From the tallest tower. I’m king, right? I can marry Lindsey.”

Gunn and John and Dean exchanged glances. John cleared his throat. “We might need to talk about that.”

But Spike wasn’t listening, because the guard holding Lindsey had let go of him and Lindsey ran forward, throwing himself at Spike, and they held each other tight, kissing like their lives depended on it.

*****

“Wait... what? You’re saying that Dean’s my cousin – and that he’s king now? My dickhead brother has been guarded by the rightful future king for the last decade?”

“Yes,” affirmed John, who was really running out of patience with all the explanations. Still, he had to acknowledge that it was a lot to take in – and that he probably owed his three sons and nephew quite a lot more than the hour and a half he’d dedicated to clarifying their positions and answering their stupid questions.

“Wow... Dad really was a complete twat.”

Everyone murmured their agreement.

“But just to be clear,” continued Spike, even though it had been the first question he’d asked and he’d reiterated it several times since, “I’m not blood-related to Lindsey in any way? I can marry him?”

“Yes!” chorused Sam, Dean and Lindsey himself, rolling their eyes.

“Now, hold on,” growled John, “I don’t think we should be rushing into anything here.”

Completely ignoring him – he was bound to come around once he accepted that his little boy liked taking it up the ass – Spike turned to Dean. As Sam had predicted, Spike didn’t really give a toss about being king – especially now that he’d been released from the tyranny of his family and was free to be with the man he loved. “So, what are you gonna do first?”

Dean bit his lip, eyes flicking to Sam. If he ruled the land, all eyes would be on him all of the time. There would be certain things expected of him – such as not fucking people related to him by blood. Short of using his royal powers to legalize incest, which didn’t seem like a great option, he would have to cease his relationship with Sam.

They weren’t trapped and alone anymore. They’d suddenly developed a family; they were free to do whatever they wanted. They could meet other people, get married, have families.

Dean didn’t want that. He also didn’t want the responsibility of being king. He’d been trained practically from birth for one thing: protecting people. He didn’t know anything about politics, or strategy, or any of the things necessary to be a good ruler. He knew about fighting and hurting, about saving people and laying his life down if necessary.

“First? I’m gonna abdicate,” he said quietly, not looking up to view all the stunned expressions of those surrounding him.

He didn’t know whether Sam felt the same as him. If not, then that was fine. Dean knew that his brother would make a much better king than him, and he’d be happy to guard Sam and keep him safe for the rest of his life, even if that meant watching him eventually fall in love with someone else.

“What?!” demanded John.

Dean shrugged. “Just not cut out for it. It’s... not what I want.”

He looked over to find Sam staring at him, expression unreadable, When Sam realized he was looking, he smiled.

Lindsey found himself both surprised and not. He didn’t know why anyone would give up the throne so easily, but he could appreciate that Dean was the kind of man who wouldn’t want to do a job like that, not if he wasn’t positive that he could do it well.

“Sam?” said Lindsey. “Guess that means the question goes to you instead.”

“What?” asked Sam, startled. He’d been busy sharing meaningful glances and secretive smiles with his brother. “Oh! God no, I don’t want it. I mean, I’d abdicate too.”

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” asked John, exasperated.

Spike looked between them. “Oh, I get it! You don’t want to be kings because then you couldn’t... Uh. I mean...” He coughed weakly, eyes darting away from John’s. “You want to keep... doing what you’ve been doing. You know...” He was struck by inspiration. “Being protectors! Yeah. Or hunters, maybe, like your dad.”

John narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Right,” agreed Sam quickly, even though it offended his sensibilities slightly to jump on such a lame cover-up. Still, it was better than declaring his big gay incestuous love in front of his father. “Protectors. We could stay on at the castle, maybe? Head up your defense teams.”

Spike looked stunned for a moment when it sunk in what their abdications meant. He was right back to being king again. “Oh. Yeah, of course, whatever you boys want. You’re giving up the throne, so you can have whatever the hell you desire!”

Lindsey looked at Spike adoringly. “You’re gonna be an amazing king.”

Dean snickered. “And you’re gonna be a great queen, little brother.”

“Fuck off, like you can talk,” grinned Lindsey.

“Okay, enough!” snapped John. God. Suddenly having four boys to deal with, guide and keep in line was going to be the death of him. He was really going to need Bobby’s help. In fact, maybe he could just let Bobby take care of it and go back on the road...?

“Chill out, Uncle John,” suggested Spike dismissively, as they all started smack-talking each other and making grand plans for the future.

John put his head in his hands, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. They were all annoying little brats, no doubt, but he’d never thought that his quest was ever going to result in such a wonderful outcome.

There was a lot to be thankful for.

*****

“Damn right there’s a lot to be thankful for, sugar,” murmured Lorne as he watched them through the viewing fountain in his gaudily-decorated boudoir, a plane or two the left.

He turned away with a chuckle, taking another sip of his Sea Breeze.


	17. Epilogue

Before many moons had passed, the entire affair of the coronation was settled. Only the closest advisors, none of whom were overly saddened by the king’s unfortunate – and unsolved – demise, were told of Dean and Sam’s claim to the throne and subsequent abdication. The boys were strangely reluctant for the news to become public knowledge, seemingly afraid that their lives would lose some of the privacy they valued so highly.

Bobby remained as Chief Advisor, much to the relief of all involved. John was offered any position that he wanted within the palace, but declined, stating that he was ready to rest and retire. No-one believed him, of course: hunting had a way of getting into the blood and the heart, and there were plenty of strange and frightening creatures that roamed the forests and beyond, waiting for unwary humans to prey on. His sons knew that he would leave again, that he was no longer built for anything but a nomadic and reclusive life – but they also knew that he would return more frequently. He had many years to make up for.

Sam and Dean became Protectors of the Realm, overseeing the various divisions of the guards and ensuring that all the kingdom’s defenses were strong and true. It was work they enjoyed, plus they had every luxury and freedom that could be afforded them – including a wonderfully secluded wing of the palace in which to quarter themselves away from interested eyes.

King Spike’s first order of business was an unpleasant one, which nevertheless brought him satisfaction. Darla and her remaining son Angel were exiled from the land, forever doomed to roam the inhospitable and little-known world beyond the kingdom as outsiders. Spike would have had them executed if Lindsey had wanted it, but he preferred the moral high ground.

(Or so they all said, maintaining the status quo. But everyone knew well from John’s tales that bands of hunters patrolled the boundaries, and word would reach them soon enough of Darla and Angel’s actions against one of their own and his son, who’d been entrusted to their care. It was unlikely that they were long for the world, nor that their endings would be merciful.)

Spike’s second task as ruler was to announce his wedding. Aside from the odd grumbling remark from John, everyone rejoiced in the news, for it was obvious to all that they were in love and would bring one another happiness.

Of course, few people knew of the scars that they carried inside and out from their respective ordeals at the hands of people who were supposed to care for them. At least when they awoke at night, screaming and crying, there was someone beside them who understood, and who could at least try to heal their wounds.

The wedding was lavish and beautiful, bringing everyone in the kingdom together in a way that the Consort Ball had failed to do. The young men were gorgeous and in love, their story stealing its way into the nation’s affection and ensuring that their reign began with hope and unprecedented public goodwill. Giles’ notion of allowing people to believe that a commoner could ensnare the heart of a prince had actually been a good one – but the populace had known their previous king far too well to honestly think that he would ever make good on such a promise.

King Spike was different, and everyone knew it. There would be peace – for a while.

For the world turns, as it is wont to do, and nothing lasts ever after. But we needn’t dwell on that, because all tales must end somewhere, and this one ends right here.

There was tranquility and prosperity, and they all lived happily.

For a time.

 

THE END


End file.
